Lesson 3: Don't sleep on the ground, Part A

Visiting another country is difficult. In most cases you are greeted with a different language and a different culture. The major difference between visiting another country and moving to one, is that you're also greeted with lots of paperwork.

When I arrived to Bilbao I wanted to get a phone so that I could talk to people in Spain and the States. So I get a phone, but apparently you can't get a phone service here without a bank account. So I went to the bank and asked for an account, and they told me that I can't get an account without a special number saying that I live here (which I am not suppose to have because I am only a "student"). I needed to go to this tax place and there I could apply for this special number. So the next day I go to the tax place, where a lady tells me that even though I am a student, she will give me a number (I still, to this day, have no idea what the hell this number is for), but I won't be able to pick it up for one week.

A week later I go back to the tax people to get THE NUMBER so that I can finally have a bank account and phone. I arrive to the tax people and give them the receipt from my last visit and ask for my number. They tell me NO, I am a student and can't get a number. I explain to them that, "I was here last week and have the paper, so someone must have signed off on it last week that it was OK." Of course in Spanish that sounded more like, "I have paper. I here last week. It is good. Give me number." She says no, I have to go to the police/passport place.

So I went to the passport place and of course I get stuck in the line of the person who hates their job and doesn't care who knows it. She had her forehead and elbows resting on the desk with her hands wrapped behind her head. I sit down and pass all of my paperwork to her. She checks it all off and then realizes that I have not filled out one of the forms. SHIT!

The form is not only in Spanish but it is in abbreviated Spanish. I don't have a clue what I am suppose to be filling out. I guess on what and where I am suppose to be writing things down, then I saw there was a section for an address. I had only lived in my apartment for a week and a half and had no idea what street I lived on. So I called my trusty girlfriend to help me out.

Sara is not exactly a morning person, and at 9:30 she was still in a slight coma. I asked her for my street name, all the while the Spanish lady in front of me is yelling at me telling me that if I don't have a street she can't process my visa, and is waving my papers in the air. I didn't know this at the time, but my street name is 18 letters long, 18!! So when Sara started spitting out letters at me I thought she was in some sort of dyslexic trance. L-E-H-E-N-D-A-K-... I am trying to write this all down, meanwhile crazy lady behind the desk is now throwing my papers in the air.

Suddenly the passport lady understands something and starts asking me more questions about where I live. So I have Zombie Sara in my ear still giving me letters, Crazy Spaniard asking me for my street number, I just want to kill two birds with one stone and hurl the phone at the lady. She finishes up, makes me sign something, takes my fingerprint, hands me a receipt, tells me that something needs to happen in 30 days (what, I don't know), and then kicks me out of the office.

So after a week of getting paperwork and meeting with people, I only have a tiny slip to show for it. I am tired, frustrated, and currently having the worst day of my life, and it's not even 10 yet...