Post office hell (again)

Going to the post office in Romania is akin to Chinese water torture.

My aunt sent me a package for Christmas. It was addressed to me through the Institute.

Normally, picking up a package should be a piece of cake. But this is Romania. So of course, they make it as difficult as possible.

They sent an announcement saying it was here. Then they sent an announcement saying that if i wasn't there in two days to pick it up, it would be sent back to Canada. I just got back to work on Monday, so it was either Monday or Tuesday.

Romanian post offices have the most inconvenient hours ever. Monday it was open from 10:00 am till 1:00 pm. Today it was open from 11:00 am till 1:00 pm.

Another staff member brought me to the post office. We went up five flights of stairs to the very top, where she left me in the lion's den.

Imagine a tiny cinderblock room, painted in sick grey and yellow tones. A huge crowd of people were stuffed into the room, with others sitting along the perimetre. I got into line. The place smelled like a mixture of garlic, onions, moth balls and cheap perfume.

11:00: Get into line
11:05: Slowly inch my way up
11:10: Realise I'm bring crushed from behind. The good part is that I'm wedged up to the person in front of me, which means no one can take my place
11:15: People start crowding along the sides
11:20: A fight breaks out in the back. Two people are arguing over who is in front of whom
11:25: I'm started by some lady pulling at my sleeve. I ignore it. She pulls harder and starts yelling at me in Romanian.
11:30: She starts yelling at the German girls in front of me. The German girls respond in Romanian. She then starts yelling at me. I'm frustrated, so I tell her I don't speak Romanian. "Oh! You're foreign! You can go first!"
11:35: I'm almost in front of the door. Victory is almost mine
11:40: People start trying to push in front of me. I smoosh up against the German girls. I can feel someone breathing on my neck. I need to scratch my nose but my arm is pinned to my body.
11:45: The door opens and someone is let out. One of the German girls goes in.
11:50: The man behind me mumbles that they should have the number system here to keep the order. I smile sympathetically at him
11:55: Random old ladies come to the front of the line to beg that we let them in front of us. I try to politely ignore them
12:00: The door opens again and suddenly the air is full of hands waving their package claim tickets. I thrust my hand out too. I don't know why some are chosen but not others. The lady looks at my claim ticket and then dismisses it.
12:05: One of the German girls goes in
12:10: The German girl is still there inside. The door opens again and the same girl comes out asking for tickets. I show her mine again but she doesn't like it. She takes a ticket from someone way in the back.
12:15: The oversealous Romanian woman beside me starts mumbling uncontrollably to herself. She asks me something. I ignore it. She repeats it. I ignore it. She says it again and I politely tell her I don't speak Romanian. She starts talking to the woman next to her. The people to my left are having an animated discussion in sign language.
12:20: The German girl finally comes out. I'm at the front of the line! I start to pick at the tape on the door.
12:25: I'm still picking at the tape
12:30: The door opens. My turn! At last! Damnit! Foiled again! A woman (whom, I might add, had just come up the stairs and had been waiting about 20 seconds) came up beside me and said something to the lady at the door, who let her in immediately. She gave me a guilty look.
12:35: The door opens again and the other lady comes out looking for tickets. She takes the ticket of the deaf couple. I'm happy because they were waiting longer than me
12:40: My turn! Finally!

I hand them my two claim tickets and a piece of ID. I'm using my Canadian driver's licence. I was told to bring photo ID. No, apparently that's not good enough. They want my passport. I don't care if I'm in a foreign country. I do not routinely carry my Canadian passport around. I know enough people here whose purses have been snatched. I keep my passport in a very safe place. I do, however, carry a photocopy of it for such emergencies though. I hand them my photocopy.

Apparently, that's not good enough either. I have three pieces of ID in front of me (driver's licence, student card, passport photocopy) and they want the real thing. She lady peers at the photos and then at me. I take my hair out of my ponytail and shake it out, so I look more like my pictures. Nope, still not good enough.

The package was addressed to me care of the Institute. Therefore, they also need proof of where I work. Luckily, I was pre-informed of this and came bearing the Institute's stamp. Suddenly, everything seems to be going well. I mean...there can't be *that* many Karlas working for Institutes in Timisoara, whose aunts share the same (uncommon) last names as them.

A man comes over who knows my boss, and vouches for me. The lady reluctantly gives me my envelope. She then starts to copy my passport number down. I politely ask if she can instead use my driver's license number.

Romanians ask me a lot for my passport number. When I bought speakers at the store, they wanted my passport number. I gave them my student card. When I needed a one-day membership at the grocery store, they asked for my passport and I gave them my student card. I figured this would be no different.

Nope, they wanted my passport. I was tired, I was stressed, and there was no way I was going to give my passport to an overworked, underpaid postal employee. Why do they need it?

"We need to have it as proof that we have you the package"
"Can't you please use my other number?"
"No, we need your passport"
"Why?"
...Ensuing discussion...

Why *do* they need my passport for everything? I don't particularly trust my passport number being written down in a notebook by an institution who just kept me waiting almost two hours to give me an envelope. Any number should be sufficient.

Turns out that I should have a paper from the Romanian government saying I'm living here for over a month. Seeing as I'm travelling so much, my boss thought it unecessary (ie- he doesn't have time to take me to the office) that I have it, seeing as I'm out of the country at least once a month. Because I don't have that paper, they need my passport. Ok, I can accept that, but still.

I hate Romanian post offices.