Romania is full of offices, departments, and government bureaucracy. To maintain the feeling of an inert, failing Communistic regime, most state-run offices are full of plastic dividers which separate the unwanted customer from the blasé, disinterested, and unfriendly as possible employees.
When I went to the Cluj post office, I walked into a cavernous space, surrounded on three sides by plastic partitions, specifically and clearly labeled, and literally not a single customer. Eight employees coldly ignored me as I deciphered the ‘official’ signs and wondered which department of the postal branch of the government could handle my shipping needs.
I randomly approached a window and spoke to the clerk. If you find a plastic partition in the US, there is usually a hole at approximately face level through which sound waves might travel, which, broadly speaking, facilitates vocal communication between two people.
A ‘sound waves’ opening does not exist in Romanian partitions. One is simply expected to gesture and vocalize at a glass which reverberates the sounds back, while also completely muting the (probably unhelpful) response of the employee. This is the case at the bus-ticket vendors, train stations, and post offices.
If one bends over awkwardly and strains one’s ears, it is possible to catch scraps of a response through the small money exchanging slot. However, seeing as my rudimentary understanding of Romanian depends largely on lip reading and expressions, this is literally 90% impossible for me.
I found the most obnoxious window partition in all of Romania at the Vatra Dornei train station. There was just a full, sealed, normal thickness window at (my) chest height that was also so small, I don’t think my whole head was fully visible through it.
The clerk came over to the window and I think asked me what I wanted. “Cluj?” I inquired. I could see her mouth moving, but I was unable to absorb even one single thing she might be saying. This was pretty much winter-insulation thickness glass and somehow, I was expected to TALK through it. She must have seen my irritated expression and my hands thrown up in exasperation because she turned on the speaker system, through which her voice actually did travel.
Though the sound was better, I just had to roll my eyes at the absurdity of this set up. Chances are, I am the first person at the train station that this employee didn’t know personally, so the presumptuous nature of this ‘official’ window was just gratuitous. They are hardly dealing with high crime or large amounts of cash, so this Swiss bank level of impersonal security is just too Commie snob.
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2 comments:
Oh, Laura, you should have known: at Vatra Dornei Bai one goes through the left luggage office, into the back of the ticket office, and talks to the clerks amidst their piles of cardboard tickets. But, then, you aren't a local..... By the way, how did the waiting room smell? Of old men and sweat, as usual?
When you get to Lunca, make friends with Iulia Zepciuc - her family are useful for train tickets. Actually she might be good company in Cluj too.
did I tell you that today at the post office, I walked up to talk to the ladies sitting behind the glass and almost started talking when I realized that that 3" hole was covered with a piece of white cardboard. I was really confuse and then finally saw the Pauza sign. Why don't they go eat lunch? Why do they stay behind the glass and look like they are there to help?
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