on monday last, i woke at the crack of dawn, gulped down a protein shake to strengthen myself against the siren call of the greasy ferry breakfast, and boarded said vessel for vancouver, in a second attempt to get my marriage officially recognised in poland so that i can renew my polish passport (damn you, poland, for becoming a gleaming grail of desirability now that you have joined the european union*).
i promptly picked up the second officially translated document (one i could have easily translated myself, but for a lack of The Stamp of Validity (oh what i would not do for such a stamp...)) and hoofed it to the consulate, aiming for that elusive 4h window of official hours. got in, proudly dropped off my document at the bureaubitch's desk and then...
...it turned out that this was not the correct document either. 40$ to the alberta government for the true copy, 108$ to the translators, and hey, this isn't the right document. i got into a calm and very polite discussion with the bureaubitch, about how this was a document with precisely the information that my previous offer had lacked. the debate got progressively calmer and more dangerously polite but accomplished nothing. apparently what i need is the marriage certificate LONG FORM, words which, prior to that moment, had never once crossed her cold reptilian lips. she archly told me that nobody has ever had this problem and that everyone brings her the correct document. most likely because, unlike moi, they have been specifically instructed to do so. it took all my willpower not to utter some choice words of polish street vernacular (i've been practising!) and i walked out of there with my head held high, a quivering bundle of misery on the inside. i made it down to the lobby before bawling and phoning mr. monkey for moral support.
you see, there are lot of things i hate, but let's, for the purposes of this particular rhetorical device, assume that there are two things i hate the most,** and these two would be wasting money and being treated like a moron. this situation made me feel like i was a complete ijit who actually enjoyed wasting time and large quantities of $ while being humiliated within the cool wood-panelled environs of the polish consulate. which i am not.
so there. after all that, mr. monkey, using his managerial super powers, talked to the consular bureaubitches on the phone and managed to extricate information that, once i have shaken off the deep psychological malaise i am currently suffering from, i can use (for the third and, dare i say it, LAST time) to get my goddamn marriage officially recognised in goddamn poland so i can get my goddamn polish passport thus opening up the gleaming (and entirely theoretical) goddamn pearly gates of the goddamn european union.
the end. happy now? has my suffering entertained you? oh good. now go away. i need to play some spider solitaire and your beady little eyes are making me nervous.
*not that it's bloody likely i'll be attempting to carve a career path in that particular neck of the woods, but i'd love to know that the opportunity is there if ever the hankering for fine cheeses, original fashion and 6 week vacations overtakes me.
**total lie: hummer-drivers, soggy raisins, republicans and wind are way higher on that list, but so be it.