The reality of it all

When people find out that I am living in Rome I think their first reaction is that of jealousy, perhaps I too would feel that way if I wasn't privy to the actual goings on of life in Rome. I will tell you the story of my day, and it is only 1:45pm, not to receive sympathy, but more so people out there have a realistic idea what life is like in Rome for a non-Italian speaking person.

I venture off to the post office which is about a 20 minute walk away, not too far, good thing I remember to pack my Italian-English dictionary. When I arrive I go to the ticket dispenser to take the correct ticket for my needs. Hmmmm, everything is in Italian, first obstacle, nothing looks familiar, which button do I press to mail a parcel? Ok, let's go with E. I take my seat and wait for the numbers to eventually reach the one I have in my hand. While I wait I begin to plan our the words I will use to explain to the lady that I need to buy two envelopes and I would like to mail two parcels. The armed guard has been staring at me since I arrived, I think he suspects that I have a bomb on me, perhaps his assumption is based on my apparent stress level which is higher than other people around me.

I notice that the E cue does not appear to be moving as fast as the other numbers. I also (after 20 minutes) notice that the people around me who have parcels to mail are all holding letter P. I go back to the machine and request a ticket for the P line. Once again I take my seat. In the meantime I get to listen to all the disgruntled customers who yell back and forth about things they are upset about, usually to do with their numbers. Or maybe they are talking about the weather, really, I have no idea.

Finally my number is called and I timidly go up to the counter, already feeling stupid because I clearly have a poor grasp of the Italian language as I stumble my way through the Sono Canadese, non parlo Italiano sentence. The lady tells me that I cannot buy envelopes at the post office, I must go to the Tabacci (a small convenience store that sells the most random of things). So of course I cannot buy an envelope at a post office, I mean really, how dumb was I to think that this would clearly be a more efficient option.....grrrr.... out I go.

I arrive at the Tabacci and am greeted by two very sweet elderly people who work there, with my poor grasp on Italian I explain that I need a busta and with hand gestures I try to describe the plastic bubbles lining the envelope. They smile and have a very good sense of humor about it all. They ask where I am from. I say Canada, and try to explain how hard it is to live in Rome and not speak Italian, I think they understood that.

Back to the Post office I go, this time taking the correct P ticket and am called up to the desk right away. I am not sure about you but when I know that the person I am speaking to does not understand English I generally choose small, simple words and try to speak slowly. Not here. fdlkjeroijdfksfeja the woman says to me. I keep pointing to the envelopes "vorrei impostare" I say. Finally I realize that she is telling me that she cannot insure my parcels, oh man, I don't even care at this point, so no ce problema!

After my post ordeal and my nervousness of being near an armed guard with spare bullets around his waist who keeps staring at me suspiciously I was very happy to get the heck out of there. I try to get on the Metro to go to my home branch and do some banking, the Metro is closed, of course it is. So instead I go to the branch at the bottom of my hill, I was there before and was told I couldn't do banking there. My I have an account so far away from my house is a mystery to me, but beggars can't be choosers. The man at the wicket recognizes me instantly, he smiles but I know he is probably not happy to see me, he speaks no English and last time I saw hi I left the bank with tears in my eyes. As it turns out I cannot do anything here yet again and despite bringing my passport, all my banking information from when I opened my account and my Italian dictionary I am once again left with tears in my eyes. Everything is so difficult.

I left the bank with nothing accomplished yet again, and had the pleasure of walking home in the pouring rain, very suiting to my day. So there you have it, don't envy me, don't cry for me, just be happy for the life that you lead, all of life's adventures come with struggles as well. And as for me, I really need to learn more Italian and fast.

And be nice to people who don't speak the local language, it might just be you one day......