More Bureau-crazy!

We have coined a phrase since being here. On a daily basis, in one way or another, we get "Spained." It's different than getting "USA'd" or "Haiti'd", and it is mostly funny and mildly frustrating in learning how things work here. Generally speaking, in order "to be Spained" one must get in a line or otherwise wait through some process to get a piece of paper only to be told that now one must go to yet another office/line/agent and wait in another line for another piece of paper. Oh, and don't forget 2-4 photocopies of every vital and personal document in your file, plus 3 passport-size photos for your application. Umm, OoooKaaaay. I mean, "Vale vale!"

So today we go to find out what we need to do to register the kids for school. The secretary at the elementary school is warming up to us. I'm positive she thinks we are completely bizarre and quite comical. She gave us a list of the needed documents, half of which we had to cross out because they didn't apply to us as non-Spanish citizens. One of the documents was a health certificate and since Spain is on a social health care system, we had to go to the local health center and attend the bureau-crazy session.

Eugene and Ann went and waited in a line at the health center for about 40 minutes and then were finally seen by a receptionist who shuffled them upstairs to see someone else. Basically, she didn't want to deal with them. We've noticed a theme here. So they see Carmen who is confused as to why Ann and Eugene were sent to her. But she graciously attends to them and then sends them back downstairs to the same line they already waited in to complete the health center registration process. Since we aren't on the Social Security system we couldn't be assigned a doctor and would just take what they gave us and then have to pay €52, about $70 each. OK, fine.

Later that day, we actually had an appointment for our girls. We showed up and noticed the sign basically saying that appointment times were relative and to please have patience. Gotta love it. We waited about a half hour and then the doctor came out and looked around and then at us with a "well-you-must-be-next" kind of look. I told him we were here for the tarjeta sanitaria for school registration. He invited us in.

We came into his office/exam room and he sighed and exclaimed how many of these health certificates he's done today. And proceeded to show me the list of patients he's had today. Ain't no HIPPA act here! Then he looked at our forms and glanced at the girls and thought for a moment. He explained a little of the system and was very worried by the fact that we would have to pay. So he instead just started filling out the forms and telling me that he never saw me. Huh? Did I just hear him right? He told me to take the forms and just go, this form for the school, this one for me, done. "Uh, don't you wanna listen to a heart or something?" I thought. Naw, he trusted us that we were from the US I guess, and just signed them.

In the process of completing the forms and him jabbering on, he gets to the first form, for Jolie, and asks if she is my daughter.

Yes.

I waited for the wheels to turn a little.

Next question, "All of them?"

Yes.

"Where is their father?"

"At home."

"Is he black?"

"No."

Wheels burnin' now.

I waited.

And waited...still no miraculous recognition of the possibility adoption. Um, excuse me, when you go to medical school, do you study genetics AT ALL? I threw out a lifeline.

"They were adopted."

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" he jovially responded. He explained that he sees so many transracial couples that he didn't know. OK, whatever. Who cares anyway?

Onto Eva' paperwork. "Is Eva a boy?" Um, the last time I looked the name, Eva, was the same in English and Spanish and was only a girl's name, plus the fact that she had a skirt on. Aren't doctors supposed to be observant?

Thank you God that the kids don't speak Spanish yet.

Kerline was last. He said her name mostly right. Then he filled out her form and continued with his jovial bed -er- DESK-side manner, and tried joking, in Spanish, with her by saying, "Do you want to be my girlfriend?" Uh, yeah, cultural CANYON here...we don't do that. So I scurried in my mind how to distract him from the joke he so intently wanted to make. None of the girls understood him. He wanted to know how to say it in English and it was too late for me to play dumb, which comes in handy sometimes. We focused on the grammar, "Would you...Could you..." and commiserated at how difficult some of these small differences were. Still insisted on how to say girlfriend. He stated he knew that it wasn't 'wife.' PUH-LEESE. I muttered, "gfrnd." Of course EVA understood me and exlaimed, "GIRLFRIEND?!?!" Hee-hee-hee!!! Shut it.

Finally, we got past the un-funny, un-comfortable joke, and my flashbacks of a Mexican doctor in Guadalajara who asked me out after he gave me a shot in the butt. Yeah, I have my own issues with this. He signed the forms, scooted us out and reminded us that he never saw us and that if the lady at the front desk asks we should tell her that we are leaving to pick up another kid (I guess at this point we have SO many -3?- that it doesn't matter) and that we'll be back. I'm not a good liar, so this would have been a problem, but no one bothered us.

I didn't feel so bad since we took 10 minutes of his time and paying $200 would have been a rip. Besides, he got some education out of it too. See, there are some families that have all sorts of different colored people in it, and they can still be family. And you don't need to know the whole history only to satisfy your curiosity. Hello????