Wasted Morning ;(

Blah ~grumble, grumble, grumble~

Bloody bureaucracy.

I got up at 7am this morning, feeling pants after my last round of injections yesterday (final Rabies, second Hep. B and a fizzy dose of Cholera), for which they'd lost my bloody appointment.

"Did they give you a card?" asked the receptionist.

"No, I wrote it in my diary, here."

"Yes, but did they give you a card?"

~blink~

Why, would the nurse giving me a card make you any less incompetent?

*deep breath*

So, yes. I got up this morning to take a heap of photocopied documents (degree certificate, MA grades and CRB check) down to the local Magistrates' Court to be notarised so that I can send them to VSO who can apply for my working visa in Rwanda. Bloody palaver, but has to be done.

I walked all the way across town to the court. I'd phoned earlier in the week and was told to turn up any time between 9:30-10:00am, Monday to Friday, and someone would see me.

So, I got there, went through the security barriers, and was told to go to the desk and ask which court I needed. The 'desk' was not a desk, it was a long row of desks behind glass, each one with its own buzzer. I buzzed one. Two minutes later a man appeared.

"Hello," I said. "I've come to get some papers notarised."

"You want the one on the end," he said.

"Never mind, I needed the exercise," I said as he disappeared off through a door again.

So, I walk to the end of the counters and press another buzzer. Out comes a lady.

"Hello," I repeated. "I've come to get some papers notarised."

"You want court number one, up the stairs turn right."

"Thanks."

I get up there - the place is empty, the court locked. I sit and, after about fifteen minutes, a few other people turn up and mill. A woman comes out. "Are you here for fines?" - "Err, no, just to get some papers notarised please." "Have you made an appointment?" - "No. I was told I could just turn up between 9:30-10:00, Monday to Friday." - "Okay, I’ll check with the Clerk."

Another twenty minutes later, I get called in before the Magistrate. All a bit intimidating just to get some bloody papers signed. "Hello," I say. "I’ve come to get some papers notarised..." A long discussion ensued in which I was asked what I actually wanted them to do. "Err..." is this a trick question? "Notarise these copies, just to say they're of the original."

They couldn't help. They didn't know what to do. They sent me away to find out more about what they were supposed to do, then make another appointment or go and see a solicitor.

Thanks. I was a little narked at VSO for a while for not giving me all the information on what was required. But, as I soon found out, there was no more information - it's not a complicated procedure.

As I was leaving, one of the security guards recognised me and said "Alright?" - "Not really," I said, slightly irritated by this point that I’d traipsed all the way across town for nothing, to stand in an intimidating courtroom and receive information as useful as a square tyre.

He nodded and started to turn. I quickly explained what had just happened and asked whether he knew where I could find a solicitor. The Security Guard immediately nodded and put out a hand to a tall, dark, and relatively handsome young man who turned out to be just such a solicitor. "Have you got a moment to help this young lady?" he asked, and I was taken into a side room.

"I can't stay long," said the solicitor. "I’ve got a case." - however, once I explained what I needed, he laughed and said "Oh, right. So you're not a criminal then?" and suddenly wasn't in so much of a rush. Bloody cheek! ;)

But he was very helpful and chatty. I, on the other hand, was tired, fed up, and feeling yucky from the walk and the jabs. He gave me his card and said he could do them now, but just to double-check what needed doing, and make an appointment at his firm.

I got home and phoned VSO, who explained that all notarising usually involved was stamping the document with the firm's seal and signing. Nothing more complicated than that. Which is all I had assumed it was.

Amazing how the Security Guard in the Court was a thousand times more helpful and informative than the Magistrates themselves.

However, as Dad said, surely instead of going to all this trouble it would be easier for the visa people simply to phone up and confirm with the University Registrar that my qualifications were correct. That way it's straight from the horse's mouth. But, there we are. Such is life.

Reminds me of the Futurama song about bureaucracy.