Back to the mob.

Although it wasn’t all that bad,  truth be told (and when have I ever not?).  Thankfully our lawyer lady got there early,  and when we strolled into the Immigration Office at about ten to eight,  she was already in line,  and quite close to the front.  Giggidy! 

You see,  you have to line up,  in order to be let inside to then line up.  Got that?  The first year we were here,  the first line up was outdoors,  but thankfully all that business takes place in what sort of looks to me like a very large lobby.  It would be like a shopping mall,  if there were any shops.  Whatever it is, at least it’s indoors.

Then after you’ve been let in by the gate keeper, and you’ve once again lined up to get your number,  you then go up to the fifth floor to then wait for said number to be displayed on the big magic board.  Oh, and there’s only one elevator to take you up.  Good stuff.

There were lots of places to sit,  and even then I don’t think we sat there for more than maybe 15 minutes before our number came up.  So off we go,  down the hallway and into one of the offices.  Only thing was,  the highly organised and professional official couldn’t seem to put his hands on our file.  So we went back out to the waiting area.  Can’t hang around there and watch him fumble,  apparently.  After a few minutes,  our number then comes back up on the board.  He found it.  Not sure where it was hiding.  Maybe because we decided to leave on Friday,  it went from the “nice”  to the “naughty” pile?  

Of course,  then lawyer lady has to go up one floor above to pay the €40 fee.  So,  out we go again.  When she has her receipt,  we can go back in, sign for our new cards,  and we’re done.  And I might add, that will be quite enough of that.  I do think we have to turn the cards in at some point a day or two before we get outta Dodge,  but I won’t mind one more trip back there.   Maybe the nice lawyer lady can do that?  Not sure.  But hey, by now I can get there without once looking at the GPS.  Big whoop!   That’s another sign that it’s time to move.

I didn’t look at Travelling Companion’s card,  but they renewed mine until October of 2013.   Nobody had better get any ideas.  

My old one had already expired,  and I  suppose if I were a bright eyed,  bushy tailed yet nervous 22 year old,  I might be a little concerned about that fact.   Not these days.  Didn’t give a rat’s tiny behind.   As long as the Austrian government would be willing to pay for our flight,  I wouldn’t have been overly upset if they had decided to put me on a plane for Toronto.   I’m sure there would be someone whom we could contact with a key to let the movers in to pack up our sh*t and send it along.  Of course,  if they only sent me away,  that wouldn’t exactly be fair to T.C.,  since leaving her alone in a foreign country has never been something we’ve been willing to consider.  We tried that when we were first getting settled in, in Puerto Rico.  Not the best strategy.

Most days,  it’s a “team” effort.  

The weather for the last 24 hours or so has been decidedly not nice,  and the pounding rain woke me up at least twice during the night.  Even though we made extremely good time at the MA35 (Immigration Office)  all that really meant was that I was in the thick of things traffic wise,  when it came down to getting back into the city.  We saw two different fender benders between the North Bridge and the off ramp for Strebersdorf,  which is only a distance of maybe a couple kilometres.  

How is it that drivers manage to lose their minds when there’s a little bit of inclement weather?   This is a multi-cultural phenomenon,  trust me.  I’ve seen this in several countries.  I used to think it only happened in Southern Ontario,  as I was convinced for many years that all of the world’s worst drivers had immigrated to Ontario.   Not so.  We still have plenty here in Europe,  and hopefully they’ll stay here.

 

The crappy weather wasn’t a deterrent for this guy,  who was riding what I consider to be a proper moped.  There’s a four wheeled variety of small car here (throughout Europe really) that is considered a “moped”.   Makes no sense to me.  I always thought “Moped”  had something to do with it being motorized but also assisted by pedal power.    I’ve been looking for a picture but I can’t seem to come up with one.   They look like a tiny car that’s restricted to 45 k.p.h.,  and run on what sounds like a two stroke. 

 

No patience for picture hunting at the moment.  

I think I have to brave the elements ever so briefly once again today (besides having to go pick up T.C. for six p.m.,)  since there was a bit of a kafuffle this morning when somebody’s underarm deodorant unceremoniously hit the deck.  It’s a bitch trying to use that stuff when it’s in several pieces.  I’ll see what I can find.  It’s my job.

 

Keep those sticks on the ice.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

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