Bureaucracy blows...

Yesterday, I began the process of registering with the federal police. I never would have found the place had Ricardo not graciously offered to accompany me. While the directions provided by Google were spot on, there is not an actual building, per se. The Headquarters of the Federal Police in the state of Minas Gerais is accessed by trouping through a construction yard and proceding up multiple flights of stairs covered in tarps.

The waiting room was filled with immigrants clutching folders of documents. My own stack was suspiciously sparse compared to theirs and, indeed, the lady at the window handed me a checklist of some seven or eight things I would need for my request to be processed. It ran something like this:

1. Your passport
2. A copy of every page in your passport
3. Two (2) current photos measuring ...x...
4. Form 10234 - three (3) copies
5. Form 103s3a (procurable at @*!#$ Agency of Brazil) - two and one half (2.5) copies
6. Two (2) immortality imparting golden apples [include video footage of your battle to the death with Ladon, firebreathing, hundred-headed dog - two (2) copies]
7. A internationally recognized peace treaty between Israel and Iran, cosigned in purple ink by Kanye West and Kim Jon Il.
8. Money... lots of it.

Weirdly, the money was by far the hardest part.

Bank one pointed me to bank two who informed me I required an ATM in the "such and such" network. Not wanting to spend the day running all over town (ha!), I returned home to get Google's advice.

The mall! Apparently, the mall had two exemplars of the ATM I was seeking. I headed up there and carefully studied the map at the entrance so as not to run around like an idiot. After circling the lower floor three times, I was sweating and glancing nervously at the shop people I passed who were now beginning to stare at me quizzically, their lips curling up at the ends in that little patronizing chuckle.

Eventually, my shame of imperfect Portuguese and admission of cluelessness was overcome by my shame of being obviously lost. I turned to one of the five or six immaculately dressed, beautiful young women with radio headsets who are stationed every few meters for the expressed purpose of graciously assisting patrons in finding what they're looking for. She immediately pointed me in the right direction. Damn it.

I had to ask again after I arrived in the right direction (the ATM was tucked in a corner); this time without hesitation. Triumphantly, I swipped my card. Error. I tried again. Error. I tried the other one. Error. Error. Error.

Shoulders slumped, I plodded defeated down the steps out of the mall. As I looked around aimlessly, my eyes settled on a bank... Finally! A beam of light shown from the heavens on an ATM that worked!

Only now, because of a weird little quirk in the fee department, I was forced to withdraw what we call in the mugging business... a big-ass, sweaty wad of cash. Great...

With affected coolness, I completed the transaction, and my quest was over. "That all?" inquired the teller. "Yes, thank you. I think that's all for today"

Every step towards the door, I seemed to be ascending into the clouds. Only a slim glass door kept me from sailing down the street in a haze of elation.

"What the?" The door growned under my weight and refused. The guard eyed me suspiciously and shifted his weight. More sweat. Oh... right... it says, "PULL"

*sigh... Now I know why there are so many illegal immigrants.

p.s. 7:45... I went to turn in the forms, waited for five hours only to learn... she had given me the wrong one. I didn't need to do any of this. But I have to return in September. At least now I know how to pay the fee...