Yesterday I arrived at the immigration office early before it opened and got a relatively good spot in line-#30. I also bit my tongue and let the Lake Chapala Society members stand in the wrong queue (see my earlier post on the immigration offices for why I would stoop to such knavery). I have actually been back to INM a number of times since that visit. Each wretched occasion has involved a long boring conversation with the retired followed by a personal meltdown. I now know each INM official on either side of the hall as well as the security guards, and I hold a personal grudge against each of them.
My goal for yesterday was not to lose my shit. It was going pretty well: I had a book to read and some Louis Armstrong cued on my MP3 player. It's a little harder to be angry at the world when listening to Louis Armstrong. But then, as the time dragged on, I became nervous about making it to my 1 pm class (factoring in the commute). It was the day of the final exam, so it would be a pretty big deal to show up late or miss it. Finally, the number on the counter changed to 28. Clutching my ficha #30, I went to hover by the windows lest they skip past me. Then, I waited and waited. And waited. At a certain point I realized that no one was being helped at any of the windows. It was about that time that a terrible rumor began to circulate throughout the waiting area: "se cae el sistema." Indeed, about 10 minutes later a smiling man came out to tell everyone in the front row where I was seated that the system had crashed. We were welcome to wait as long as we liked, but there was no telling when Mexico City would resolve the problem. I calmly got up and left without doing a Basil Fawlty impression. Mission accomplished.
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