Becoming legal

June 20, 2008
I forgot to mention the other day (prior to getting our apartment) that in order to become legal here, we had to go to the "Agenzia Delle Entrate" where our successful San Francisco Visa adventure now allows us to receive our "Certificato Di Attribuzione Del Numero Di Codice Fiscale" and we can enter into legal situations/contracts (i.e. a rental agreement). Long story short, it’s an identification number like our Social Security numbers. (Kim just made me add that "long story short" when I say it is anything but. She is repeating over and over, "Danger Will Robertson, danger")! ANYWAY, the setting was a typical formal bureaucratic building with multiple flags out front; our realtor, Rosanna met us there. And, was that ever a good thing because there is no way we would have figured it out for ourselves. Picture one of our bureaucratic buildings and how we ourselves struggle to navigate—for example, the Department of Social and Health Services (DSHS) or another one of my favorites, the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV).
First, one must find the appropriate office room. Then there is the challenge of how one gets served in this room full of people looking bored, annoyed, frustrated and hoping their number will soon be called. Speaking of numbers, there was a woman in front of a "take a number" reader that had various columns and depending upon what service you need, you push the appropriate button and out pops your number. Anyway, it became apparent that Rosanna "knows" people and before we even got a number, a woman who I later figured out to be equivalent to the office manager/supervisor was speaking to Rosanna and telling her what paperwork to fill out. Like I have done many times with my social work clients, Rosanna filled out our paperwork and then told us where to sign. For me, this was simultaneously reassuring and humbling. This makes me think and wonder about all of the immigrants who enter our country and the process they must endure. It reminds me of an Evergreen co-worker who is from Laos. One day at work, he told me a very long amazing story about hiding out in the mountains of Laos and fearing for his life. Then his journey with his family to camps and being asked one day if he’d like to leave for America. He said yes, and was told he had one hour to gather his family and get to the departure location (no five bags of belongings either). He and his family came to the US not knowing a word of English and nothing about our culture. I am here for pleasure; he came to American to survive. I am now only getting the tiniest, slightest glimpse of what he and his family have been through. The day he told me his amazing story, I had an intellectual understanding of the process; now I am able to add a few of the feelings but again, our journey is for pleasure. I should add that he is someone I have always greatly admired and for whom I hold a great deal of respect. He’s always kind, funny, and a very strong worker bee ethic; the "kind" our nation says we should welcome.
To continue with this story: it was the typical take a seat, wait and in my case, observe and try to figure out their system and process. Kim right away whispered to me that she was wondering if one of the main data entry people (who I will call "Marta" was transgendered. Marta seemed to have a lot of front desk authority and she would not answer people’s quick questions but tell them to go take a number. I should add that Kim often notices these types of situations; always hopefully noticing who is gay ("our people") or in this case transgendered. The entire time we were there, I couldn’t decide; it was close. First I’d say no, then yes. I thought no initially because she had quite large breasts and they were pretty rounded….but then that led me to thinking yes because that would seem to be an important thing to a transgendered person. I think of all the drag queens in Seattle and there is always an emphasis upon breast cup size. When we did get up to her station I looked at her hands. Still, I couldn’t tell and as I write it’s become one of those things that I’ll never know. (NOTE: Kim questions that by my mentioning this are we/am I being in some form politically incorrect and insensitive? I do not mean to be; I am only reporting what occurred and our thoughts. I make no judgment of Marta’s gender, just her typing prowess as you will note shortly).
Anyway, back to the ambiance of the room. At one point it became totally chaotic with many people suddenly converging upon the front desk; lots of chatter and the din of the room was loud. A man approached Marta and began complaining loudly that he wasn’t receiving services; apparently he’d called on the phone and was getting nowhere. Marta sternly told him to take a number but he wasn’t having any of this and they continued to argue back and forth. I couldn’t figure out why things had changed so quickly, from bored resignation to anger and arms waving. Kim told me that she overheard the "office supervisor" say "where are all of our colleagues"? I looked around, and sure enough, there were only two. The number giver woman (a critical entry guide) was gone along with other staff. (I’m pretty sure the number woman was out front smoking because when we’d first arrived I saw her outside and she was smoking. At this point in time, about 30-40 minutes had passed so that would be right on cue). All of a sudden, another woman appeared and began telling people to calm down which they sort of did but also didn’t. When the ticket dispenser did finally return, she voiced some indignation because people had taken it upon themselves to get their own ticket and perhaps that added to the chaos. Meanwhile, Marta was still arguing with the complainer when she called our number. I just kept saying to myself, "come on Marta, we can do this, we can get this done" as she efficiently typed away with only her middle finger. In typical bureaucratic fashion, Marta took and s l o w l y began with Kim’s paperwork while simultaneously complaining to her office manager across the room what an idiot the complainer must be. She took Kim’s passport to walk across the room where the copy machine resides. Never mind that she knew there were two of us and she’d have to do the same thing with my passport; no, it was part of her daily steps regime and there is a procedure and order to be followed.
After all of this, I happily report (long story short) that we did succeed and now having my new identity number makes me wonder what other contracts we might enter? Perhaps a car….? Probably not but we shall see.