When in Rome
When I lived in Mexico, there was a somewhat daily routine kept by all the housemates that included a nice large breakfast and an itinerary exchange whereby everyone exclaimed like a preacher the one task they would attempt that day. Actually task is too simple a word. It was more an undertaking or a daily vocation. But it was always just one thing. One undertaking. Getting your visa renewed, going to the bank, buying groceries, giving a stool sample, getting the soles of your shoes replaced, all ordinary tasks, that, say if you lived in Minneapolis Minnesota, you could probably do all of before lunch. But in the tranquillo state of Mexico it was ambitious enough to try and do just one of these things. Like the time I did have to get my visa renewed and it actually ended up taking three days. I had to visit two different far off cities and endure three different seven hour bus rides. When I returned home, worried friends asked, “where you been?” And my reply of, “I had to renew my visa” was all I had to say to get the nod of understanding.

I was reminded of this rich latin tradition yesterday, when I had to run one small errand to the bank. GC and I had arranged to meet for some green curry lunch and then there was to be the aforementioned trip to the bank. The whole thing I calculated roughly taking two hours tops. Well the lunch turned into a nice relaxed siesta-style engagement. And then who wants to go to a bank when their belly is full of good food? Not I. But begrudgingly we finally made it to the bank. Now I should preface this part of the story by explaining that the bank I belong to isn’t one of your name brand kinda banks. It’s more a throwback to the kinda banks you might see in an old western on the AMC movie channel. I think I’m the only customer I’ve actually ever seen in the bank doing banking stuff.

Yesterday, I simply wanted some printouts of some older account statements that had inadvertently been ripped apart in one of my glorious point of no return paper shredding power binges. And if my bank was a normal bank, then I would have been able to do all this online, and there wouldn’t have to be me standing in an actual physical bank. But there I was, making my little request in person. What I didn’t expect was that the request would set off this latin styled black hole bureaucracy machine. Requests were denied. Multiple people had to be consulted, and different amounts were quoted (mostly made up on the spot methinks) to perform this request. Vasts amount of ‘research’ was said to be needed to answer the request. Etc. Etc. Finally, after much haggling, where I actually thought of making a little Tijuana bribe to grease the wheels of bureaucracy, a women declared she could produce the information but it would take 15 minutes. Fine. Great. See you in 15. Of course, this meant there was time for one beer at the bar around the corner. And since we were now playing on latin time the beer seemed quite an appropriate afternoon pit stop. Ever thus.

Back to the bank with beer breath after 15. But now – out of nowhere – the bank is suddenly closed! Fists beating on doors. And after much yelling a different women answers the door just a crack and throws the printouts our way. Exhausted, I contemplate another beer after this minor victory but the way the day has progressed it doesn’t seem like a good idea.

With memories of sun drenched Mexico, hats off to the ‘getting-one-thing-done-per-day’ plan.