Italian bureaucracy blues
Today I had to go to the post office. Any foreigner living in Italy dreads this experience. Poste Italiane is one of the larger, if not largest, bureaucracies that Italians as well as foreigners have to deal with on too regular a basis and that's because they do it all: bill payment, parking violations, pensions, foreigners permits to stay and if that weren't enough - deliver and send mail which they do with incredible inefficiency.
There used to be two ways to send a letter - regular mail and what they called "Posta Prioritaria" (Priority Mail). It was just a few cents more, but at least sending it priority mail, you were ensured that at least 80% of the time your letter would make it to its destination. With regular mail - it was more of a 50/50 chance. I sent a letter once to London that took 17 days to get there - Poste Italiane's idea of priority mail, but at least it made it.
Don't go to the post office here if you are feeling suicidal, depressed or homicidal because all of these and many other compulsions and thoughts will begin to flitter through your mind as you wait. And wait, and wait, and wait, and wait. If you're lucky, you might get out in 15 minutes, but an average wait is 45 minutes to an hour.
After nearly an hour of trying to get my multiple transactions taken care of - a couple of bills, two packages and our tax returns back to the US - I started to feel really annoyed. I had just taken 2 minutes to fill out a form that was necessary to mail one of my packages and now I was waiting nearly 20 minutes for the particular clerk who had helped me initially because the one and only other clerk could not help me - for reasons that weren't entirely clear. I sat there feeling more and more irritated as he was oh so slowly going through a huge pile of registered mail that needed to be stamped with all the ubiquitous Italian stamps when my eyes were drawn to the clerks hands and all of the stamping. His right hand had fingernails that were longish, but were all very carefully manicured and his left hand was just as manicured, but the fingernails were very short. "Oh, he plays guitar," I thought. I started to wonder whether he played in a band or if it was a secret passion - what kind of guitar he played, what type of music, etc., etc. Was I really that interested? Well, not exactly, but it made my negative mindset slowly dissolve into a more positive one. Sure, life at Poste Italiane must be an incredible bore and I couldn't imagine working for a company that was mired in a swamp of bureaucracy and absurdity, but he's a human being too.
Finally all the letters were stamped, the amount paid and it was my turn. I asked him if he played guitar, but I phrased it like a statement and not a question. His eyes which had previously been so shuttered and listless suddenly brightened a bit and he began to tell me it was like a drug for him - that he played only for himself and that he was going to be in New York for a wedding in June and had plans to buy a Gibson guitar - a dream. The smile I gave him when we were done with my transaction and the "buona giornata" was a genuine one. I really did hope he had a nice day.
For me this was a great lesson for the next time I find myself feeling cut off from other people and falling into a "me vs them" mentality. It's so easy to forget that we're all in this together.
There used to be two ways to send a letter - regular mail and what they called "Posta Prioritaria" (Priority Mail). It was just a few cents more, but at least sending it priority mail, you were ensured that at least 80% of the time your letter would make it to its destination. With regular mail - it was more of a 50/50 chance. I sent a letter once to London that took 17 days to get there - Poste Italiane's idea of priority mail, but at least it made it.
Don't go to the post office here if you are feeling suicidal, depressed or homicidal because all of these and many other compulsions and thoughts will begin to flitter through your mind as you wait. And wait, and wait, and wait, and wait. If you're lucky, you might get out in 15 minutes, but an average wait is 45 minutes to an hour.
After nearly an hour of trying to get my multiple transactions taken care of - a couple of bills, two packages and our tax returns back to the US - I started to feel really annoyed. I had just taken 2 minutes to fill out a form that was necessary to mail one of my packages and now I was waiting nearly 20 minutes for the particular clerk who had helped me initially because the one and only other clerk could not help me - for reasons that weren't entirely clear. I sat there feeling more and more irritated as he was oh so slowly going through a huge pile of registered mail that needed to be stamped with all the ubiquitous Italian stamps when my eyes were drawn to the clerks hands and all of the stamping. His right hand had fingernails that were longish, but were all very carefully manicured and his left hand was just as manicured, but the fingernails were very short. "Oh, he plays guitar," I thought. I started to wonder whether he played in a band or if it was a secret passion - what kind of guitar he played, what type of music, etc., etc. Was I really that interested? Well, not exactly, but it made my negative mindset slowly dissolve into a more positive one. Sure, life at Poste Italiane must be an incredible bore and I couldn't imagine working for a company that was mired in a swamp of bureaucracy and absurdity, but he's a human being too.
Finally all the letters were stamped, the amount paid and it was my turn. I asked him if he played guitar, but I phrased it like a statement and not a question. His eyes which had previously been so shuttered and listless suddenly brightened a bit and he began to tell me it was like a drug for him - that he played only for himself and that he was going to be in New York for a wedding in June and had plans to buy a Gibson guitar - a dream. The smile I gave him when we were done with my transaction and the "buona giornata" was a genuine one. I really did hope he had a nice day.
For me this was a great lesson for the next time I find myself feeling cut off from other people and falling into a "me vs them" mentality. It's so easy to forget that we're all in this together.
posted by lomalinda at
21:03
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