I met Ira at Ovir on Tuesday afternoon, a little before 3pm. We stood in line - 2nd in line this time, even though we were later than last time. However, a man came up just before they opened the door and insisted that he, Mr. Self-Important Man, only needed to pick up his passport so he should go first. Well, Ira told him I only needed to pick up my passport and I should go second after the guy in front of me who was also only picking up his passport. The late Self-Important Man laughed and joked around a bit and flirted with the young woman and her little 4 year old daughter and basically ignored the fact that he was not more important than everyone else in the line, even though he was older than me and flirting with that young woman - shame on him!
Ah, such is life.
When we got in, Self-Important Man tried to push ahead of #1, but #1 didn't let him. The same really slow guy was sitting there behind the window again, this time in a gray policeman type uniform (they were all in uniform on Tuesday - I wonder if someone is reading my blog and saw that people were lax in that office, imagine! a business suit instead of that oh-so-professionally scary uni! and got some disciplin going down here in the boonies of Kherson?). Well, while #1 was waiting to sign the book that says you picked up your passport, Self-Important Man pushed his way in front of us and demanded his passport, too.
They didn't have it ready yet.
Serves him right. (Can't you just see me sticking my tongue out at him, like a 3 year old? I really, really wanted to.)
Ira and I were talking in kind of a whisper and I asked her what I needed to do (sign the register book) and when I breathed in I inhaled some phlegm and started to choke. I have done this before, during allergy season, and ended up coughing so hard I choked, threw-up and had to change my pants - so you can imagine what a panic I had for about two minutes. I couldn't talk because every time I tried, I started to choke again. No water - why didn't I bring a bottle of water with me??? Because I don't know of any toilets nearby - that's why! So, I stood there, red-faced, trying not to breath too deeply, Ira laughing at me in a quiet sort of way, hoping I wouldn't end up wetting my pants if I coughed too hard. Ah the joys of being a 50+ year old woman.
Ira asked for my passport, had to spell the last name a couple times (Peh-ah-ee kratkoi-kah) and then agree that my first name is indeed what it is. The official looked at me, kind of sourly I thought - but maybe that's because my face was all red and covered with sweat by then, then at my passport photo and then told me I needed to sign "here." I wasn't sure exactly where "here" was and started signing the wrong place. Very quickly Ira pointed with a well manicured fingernail to the correct spot and I signed my initials, grabbed my passport and we high tailed it out of there!
Out on the street, I felt free to cough a bit, but by then I was better. I just had no voice to speak of. Kind of a wobbly, hoarse, almost but not quite totally gone kind of voice for several minutes, like I was getting over some pretty bad whatever it's called (what is it called when you can't talk? for crying out loud! I can't remember! and Mel is no help right now for the exact word I want. but my sister, to whom I am also instant messaging as I write this, is a nurse in alaska and she knows! laryngitis!!!)
I had Ira read the registration stamp in my passport.
Bummer.
Three months only.
I have to do this all over again in 3 months!. I swear, all they really want is the money you have to pay them so they will put that little stamp in your book. The money and the fun of making your life a bit more difficult.
Making a run for the border the beginning of September is sounding better all the time.
Ira and I walked up the street together, toward the central market. She, to catch her marshrutka home. Me, to go drown my sorrows in a fish tank at the pet shop.
I bought the most beautiful blue betta to replace dead Old Fish.
:):):) Sometimes shopping does help. ha ha !
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