i never really understood the title of the film. but now that i live in brazil i am starting to understand; bureaucracy in brazil is of the highest sophistication i have ever come across, only surpassed maybe by india's.
1. i usually make my appointments at the whole or the half hour. sometimes a quarter before or after the hour. to be more precise than that simply makes no sense. there are too many factors that get in the way of making it on the exact minute: traffic, public transport, chance meetings on the way and of course leaving too late and laziness.
official organizations might work differently though. particularly in brazil. who am i to know?
i had to apply for a fiscal number. so i went to the office. an impressive office. huge building. many guards, with guns. “nobody steals our paperwork!”
they made an appointment for me, a few days later. they also set a time for my appointment: 16:46. sixteen forty six! exactly. not quarter to 5. not roughly 5. not anywhere between half past 4 and 5. no. 16:46!
needless to say, on the appointed day and hour i had to wait for about half an hour (37 minutes, to be precise). but i liked the attempt.
2. i needed a light bulb with a small fitting. not something you buy in a supermarket here. but this specialized shop was bound to have it. sure enough – there it was. displayed in a glass show case, sitting happily next to its red, green and flame light bulb brothers and sisters. inches away from my nose.
a lady appeared. she picked the chosen light bulb out of the display case and ... put it on a shelf behind her. what i got was a handwritten note, illegible to me. “now you have to take this note there”. she pointed to a window some meters away.
at the window i handed over the note and a 2R$ banknote. i got a new note, printed, a receipt and some coins change.
with the receipt and the new note i could go to the counter right next to the window i had just left.
now i had to hand over this new note and show the receipt. only then did the light bulb materialise.
3. i am sure it is easier to buy atomic warheads in vatican city than to get an internet connection in rio.
only 1 provider operates in our neighbourhood: oi, which means hello. well... hello?! oi simply decided to stop making more internet connections in our neighbourhood for the time being. and nobody knows how long this “time being” will be. could be 2 months. could be forever. hello?!
there is an alternative: mobile internet. 3G. plug and surf. you are only 3 easy steps away from total freedom. check your mail on the go. the future is now. wow. a totally new life lies ahead of us.
so of we went, the boyfriend and i. to the telephone shop. flashy shop. many terminals, young, smiling attendants, all so healthy looking.
the boyfriend had his little folder with him. in it all documents you need in brasil to get anything done.
and then this smiling, healthy looking bitch decided to ruin it all. one document was not good for her: the rental agreement of our apartment did not have a certified signature on it. so off we went. me to get a sandwich and to swear a little bit. the boyfriend to a little office to get his signature certified. this means that a guy or girl in an office looks at it and says: yes, this is indeed your signature. then he/she will put a sticker and a stamp next to it. and then he/she will charge you 15R$ and wishes you a good day.
my stomach filled and anger cooled, and armed with the certified signature nothing could go wrong now. and, amazingly, nothing went wrong. it just took another hour or so.
now 2 smiling attendants helped us. photocopies were made. forms were filled in. a long phone call was made – to the manager, the head office? to the ministry of defense? we paid. i got a receipt. i had to give the receipt back. a photocopy was made. we were given 2 boxes with hardware. and we were out off there!
when i bought my apartment i had to hand over less documents than the boyfriend had to to get this internet connection... seriously!
but now we have internet. mobile, but very slow. the boyfriend is already making phone calls about it, little folder sitting on his lap. and always they manage to ask him for a number or a bit of information which he does not have – probably because it doesn't exist in the first place.
“ah, but we need to know the fiscal registration number of the company that produced the modem. and the shoe size of the neighbour of your brother in law. good afternoon to you too.”
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