Living in Argentina
Argentines have a number called a DNI, which comes with its own little booklet like a pint sized passport with picture, address and so forth. The other day it was past time for me to change my address from that of the apartment we first lived in.
To do this I had to go downtown to a particular office between 6 and 10 in the morning. I arrived at 7 and at the door stood in a short line to get a number handed me on a stub like a lottery ticket. My number was 36 and I was directed to sit in one of a large group of chairs in a much larger room. I knew enough to bring a book having done this sort of thing before. At 7:40 they were open for business.
A fellow called for numbers one through ten and ushered them downstairs. Five minutes later he called for eleven through twenty and I thought things were moving right along. Silly me. Forty minutes later a scruffy looking young fellow who looked as though he hadn’t shaved sat down behind one of the computers on the counter in front of us. In due course he called out for twenty-one through twenty-nine and eventually the group which included number thirty-six. We stood humbly in line, quiet supplicants before the master. It hadn’t been an hour yet and I thought I’d done rather well to be getting my address changed in so short a time. Have I said “silly me” already? I think so. What he gave me after addressing his computer in some cryptic way was a piece of paper which declared itself to be a “Turno” meaning “turn” and motioned me to go downstairs where I found a room with another bank of seats.
I sat and read and waited. Numbers were being called by a couple of people behind computers. When thirty-six came up I went forward to my man who, after addressing his computer, penciled the number 57 on my Turno and motioned me over into another section where, you might have guessed, there were more chairs and some familiar faces I’d been following.
After a while 57 was called and I went up to a pretty girl behind a computer. I told her I was there to change my address and showed her the piece of paper I’d previously gotten from the local police who had verified my address. Having done her bit with her computer she told me to stand in line for the cashier’s cage where I paid my eight pesos. I was given a slip of paper and told to be into the next section, put the paper in a box on the counter and take a seat. This is why I bring books to things like this.
The piece of paper had my name on it and this time it was my name which was called. There were a lot of people and it was noisy with names being called, but I wasn’t about to miss mine. The man behind the computer seemed to know who I was and why I was there; computers are marvelous. He took my DNI book and told me to take a seat. I wasn’t in much of a reading mood anymore being more inclined to watch him like a cat watching dinner being prepared. Finally, in a mirace of Argentine efficiency, he had my DNI. And when I checked it, it even had the correct address in it. I’d whisked right through in only six different lines and a mere two hours and twenty minutes. That’s no time at all for someone to write your correct address in a little booklet.
WH
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1. morris | May 25th, 2009 at 7:57 pm
Living in Argentina
Argentines have a number called a DNI, which comes with its own little booklet like a pint sized passport with picture, address and so forth. The other day it was past time for me to change my address from that of the apartment we first lived in.
To do this I had to go downtown to a particular office between 6 and 10 in the morning. I arrived at 7 and at the door stood in a short line to get a number handed me on a stub like a lottery ticket. My number was 36 and I was directed to sit in one of a large group of chairs in a much larger room. I knew enough to bring a book having done this sort of thing before. At 7:40 they were open for business.
A fellow called for numbers one through ten and ushered them downstairs. Five minutes later he called for eleven through twenty and I thought things were moving right along. Silly me. Forty minutes later a scruffy looking young fellow who looked as though he hadn’t shaved sat down behind one of the computers on the counter in front of us. In due course he called out for twenty-one through twenty-nine and eventually the group which included number thirty-six. We stood humbly in line, quiet supplicants before the master. It hadn’t been an hour yet and I thought I’d done rather well to be getting my address changed in so short a time. Have I said “silly me” already? I think so. What he gave me after addressing his computer in some cryptic way was a piece of paper which declared itself to be a “Turno” meaning “turn” and motioned me to go downstairs where I found a room with another bank of seats.
I sat and read and waited. Numbers were being called by a couple of people behind computers. When thirty-six came up I went forward to my man who, after addressing his computer, penciled the number 57 on my Turno and motioned me over into another section where, you might have guessed, there were more chairs and some familiar faces I’d been following.
After a while 57 was called and I went up to a pretty girl behind a computer. I told her I was there to change my address and showed her the piece of paper I’d previously gotten from the local police who had verified my address. Having done her bit with her computer she told me to stand in line for the cashier’s cage where I paid my eight pesos. I was given a slip of paper and told to be into the next section, put the paper in a box on the counter and take a seat. This is why I bring books to things like this.
The piece of paper had my name on it and this time it was my name which was called. There were a lot of people and it was noisy with names being called, but I wasn’t about to miss mine. The man behind the computer seemed to know who I was and why I was there; computers are marvelous. He took my DNI book and told me to take a seat. I wasn’t in much of a reading mood anymore being more inclined to watch him like a cat watching dinner being prepared. Finally, in a mirace of Argentine efficiency, he had my DNI. And when I checked it, it even had the correct address in it. I’d whisked right through in only six different lines and a mere two hours and twenty minutes. That’s no time at all for someone to write your correct address in a little booklet.
WH
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