M J Bliss

 

 

I have a strong suspicion that Sweden took lessons in bureaucracy from the Soviet Union. The Immigration Office is only open 4 days a week, for 2 and a half hours, except on the second Thursday of months beginning with “A” and “J”, when it is closed, unless it happens to be a full moon, when it is open, unless it happens to be Moose Hunting Season, when it is closed. And so on…

In reality, the opening time of 9am means, “whenever the employees get done with their morning fika”. Fika being the time honored, government sanctioned, sacred Swedish way of pissing around for 2 hours each day (in addition to lunch), when the entire country shuts down for a coffee and cake break.

 

Before we came to Sweden, we had read horror stories of the Immigration Office losing people’s applications, misplacing documents and accidentally destroying passports. We attributed those tales to disgruntled individuals who had to wait 18 months for their visas. After all, we had been told time and time again that Sweden was a very organized country. Little did we know…

 

We knew something was up when after 6 weeks of waiting for our ID numbers, we were told by the Tax Office that they had never received our applications. After I showed them a copy of our applications that they gave us as a receipt 6 weeks earlier, they sheepishly admitted they couldn’t find the originals, and by the way, they had lost our marriage certificate. And in the meantime, we were living in a legal hell: In Sweden, you need an ID number to do just about anything, see a doctor, get a cell phone, go shopping, use a public toilet, etc. Not to mention such mundane things like getting paid and opening a bank account.

 

The second most hated building in Umeå

 

Now, after 2 years here, we find ourselves in a visa renewal hell. Yes, we should have taken care of it sometime in March, and trust me, we would have, but nothing is as easy as it seems, at least not in Sweden. The person somewhere in the mysterious HQ of the research institution The Man* works for, who was responsible for preparing the documents for the Immigration Office, went on vacation and forgot about it. An average vacation break in Sweden lasts 4 weeks. We tracked her down while she was sailing down the Danube on a cruise boat, and she promised to take care of the papers as soon as she got back. And she did, except she dated them wrong. Then she promptly left on a maternity leave. Her replacement had no clue what we were talking about and someone finally re-issued the documents, but with yet another wrong date.

 

The Man likes to think I am a dignified and sophisticated lady, and he would rather not witness me dealing with government officials, and so I found myself dealing with an Immigration officer, who clearly wanted to be somewhere else, alone.

When I was asked why, according to our papers, we had vanished in March, then reappeared briefly in April, and then disappeared again until today, when I showed up at the Office, I explained the whole story to him swearing that it was the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth.

 

All the while I was fidgeting and squirming in my seat, with cold sweat beading on my forehead. I’m sure he thought I was lying through my teeth, and he made appropriate notes on our applications. But the real reason was much more mundane: After two hours of waiting in line, I had to go to the bathroom real bad.

 

*The Man's name is Yoshi, but "The Man" sounds so much more macho and important.