Show 'em what's behind door 1A!!!

Rachel and I went on a great adventure yesterday seeking just one of many papers that we must present in our portfolio should we want to get temporary residence permits and visas. 

One requirement is proof of health insurance. Obviously, our real health insurance provided by the Fulbright and (in my case, supplemented by my father's) is not sufficient. We must be insured by the Romanian health care system, but only long enough to show a paper with an official stamp, so we need to buy only one month's worth. We read our checklist four times over and it says simply that we are to go to the office and present our passport and request a month of health insurance. Simplu!

So we get to the office, a hideous, decrepit 2-room facility. Room one is the waiting area (which has a dismal carpet, grey lighting, peeling paint, and a rusty sink) and a whole wall COVERED in papers written in all caps "DO THIS DO THAT DO THIS DON'T DO THAT DON'T DO THAT DO THIS DON'T DO THAT" with various rules and regulations and office hours for various different special cases etc etc etc. It is impossible to find the 'normal' procedure because all of the amendments and other added on notes are just haphazardly pasted everywhere.  The two doors, labelled 1A and 1B are covered with paper taped over the glass so you cannot glare menacingly at the useless government employees as they imperiously ignore you.

Rachel and I get there and are met by 8 'Romanian stares' - a look Romanians give you, (different from the arrogant, judgmental, and blatantly curious "Austrian stare" which allows expressions of scorn, surprise, or ridicule to shine through) that is a sort of wary, deer in the headlights, expressionless gaze. 

We look around trying to figure out what the process is here, but no one moves and there's no apparent order going on. We sit down and figure we'll imitate the first person who makes a move. All of a sudden, one of the hallowed doors opens a crack and INSTANTLY, like a flock of pigeons descending upon a hoard of bread crumbs, people stand up and push and jostle and get into an uncomfortable European line (I think it might be possible to get pregnant standing in one of these lines, people are so close to one another). 

The door opens a crack and allows one person and instantly slams in the face of the next person who is waiting in front of it.

FINALLY we get in. I have to speak in Romanian and I say: 'hello, we need to purchase one month of health insurance.' 

"No, you must return tomorrow and come to Office 1B to do this."

Rachel and I turn around and look at Door 1B which is directly behind us. As in, another door that leads directly into the same room as the door 1A by which we entered. 

"We cannot purchase the insurance today? If we come tomorrow, we can buy the one month of insurance?" I try to clarify this very logical, efficient process.

"No, you must go to your university faculty to purchase insurance, but you need a permit first"

"Nu! Nu! [it's at that point again] We need the insurance to get the permit! We were told to come this THIS office, not the faculty!"

"No, you come here, with your verification at the faculty, and then you go and pay at the cashier over there" 

OMMGGG I was getting ridiculously aggravated, but trying to remember, this is how it is, and it's how the system works, and that's it. But her whole insistence on coming the next day and entering through door 1B (and probably sitting with the same person at the same desk) makes me want to start skipping around in circles in and out of doors 1A and 1B shrieking 'It's the SAME ROOM!!!!!" But that probably wouldn't have solved anything.

This continues in a similarly unproductive fashion, and finally, I think, I am going to write the nastiest email I can conjure to my unfriendly, pretentious university contact, and then, once she has told the WHOLE story about how we need to go about procuring various stamped pieces of paper, I'll venture out. Maybe with a beer next time.