Bureaucrazy

Is that a typo? Well, kind of. It was a typo this first time I typed it. Then I realized it was pretty accurate, so I left it. Bureaucracy. Craziness. Put the two together, and you have an accurate description of the process I have gone through the last 2 days in order to reregister my car.

Here's a recap of the process (as best as I can remember it...honestly, I'm trying to forget it all in order to lower my stress level):
1. Call the police station. Verify that my new visa has arrived.
2. Walk to the police station; move fast so as not to freeze in place.
3. Look for the officer who has my visa in his desk. Not there. Go through doors marked "access forbidden", "authorized personnel only", etc. looking for said man. He's taking a break (with all of the other personnel in the building, apparently, precipitating the need to go behind said doors). Sign my life away, get my new visa (complete with no-smile picture...cuz if I smile, he'll make me take the picture again until I can keep a straight face).
4. Walk across town to another police station (we have different stations for every different police function, all in different parts of town).
5. Take a number, wait my turn, and ask the man behind the glass exactly what documents I need in order to register my car so that I don't run around like a chicken with my head cut off. Make a list.

Stick with me. This is where it gets good.

6. Go home. Gather all documents on aforementioned list.
7. Return to the police station (visit #3 today, if you are keeping track).
8. Take a number, wait 45 minutes for the 3 numbers before me to be called.
9. Give the man behind the glass all of the documents he told me to bring. "Umm, where is this? and this?" Umm, I don't know, since you never told me I needed those!
10. Go back home, pick up another document.
11. Go to the office next to the police station, pay them to type up a request asking that my car be registered and to make copies of my passport, visa, etc.
12. Go back to the police station (visit #4). Take a number, wait in line, blah blah blah.
13. Give my stuff to the man behind the glass again. "Why isn't this document stamped by the mayor's office?" Umm, I don't know. Maybe cuz no one ever told me that it needed to be. And there's no actual place on the form asking for the signature or stamp of the mayor's office. Apparently, my mind-reading skills have failed me.
14. Walk across town to the mayor's office. Stand in another line. And then another. Get the stamp that I need on my papers (Romanians have a love affair with stamps...I need to get my own!).
15. Stop at home to take the old plates off of my car (during visit #4, the man behind the glass told me to bring them with me).
16. Back to the police station again (visit #5). Take a number, wait in line.
17. Talk to the man behind the glass. "Where are your tax receipts?" What tax receipts? "Go to this office, pay this much for this tax and this much for this tax, then come back." Thanks, think you could have told me all of this the first time I was here? Or the 2nd? Or the 3rd? Or even the 4th?
18. Go to said office. Stand in line to pay taxes. Actually, there was no line. I just stood there, waiting for the clerk who was clearly bothered by the fact that she had to help me. I told her what I needed to pay. "You can't pay those here." This is where I was told to come. "Well, you can pay the first one here, but then you have to go over there to pay the other one." Pay tax #1. Go stand at another window. Wait for clerk who is clearly ignoring me while filing her nails. Eventually, pay tax #2.
19. Return to police station (visit #6). Take a number, stand in line. Man behind the glass sees me standing there, tells me to come ahead to the front. "Okay, everything looks good now." Wait. "Come back tomorrow morning." Guess I shouldn't have been surprised by that. Wouldn't want to make it TOO convenient!
20. Walk home...
21. ....and the next morning, walk back to the police station (visit #7). Take a number, wait my turn. Show my receipts, tell them what I came for. Wait. Wait. Ah, there they are. Sign for the registration paperwork for my car. Wait some more. They can't find my license plates anywhere. 15 minutes later, someone else comes out and tells me I have to come back next week to pick up my plates. Boy, that's a shocker!!!
22. Walk home, scan old plates (which the man behind the glass decided he didn't really want after all yesterday), change the number, print them, cut them out, cover in clear Contact paper, put fake plates on the car (This is legal...really! I have all of the legal paperwork for the car, including the number assigned to my plates, so I can make temporary plates with that number until the new ones are ready. Most people use a black marker on a piece of cardboard.).
23. Next week I'll go back and pick up the plates. Not bad...by the time the process is completely done, it will have only taken 1 1/2 days, about $60, and 8 trips to the police station.

Can't wait to do it again next year...