But W. hadn't made the forms. Noooo. The German authorities had. There were several empty spaces where he went 'skip that for now'. After skipping a page and a half of the two forms, we called his tax advisor, who'd sent the papers.
Some things, we had to leave blank because I'm foreign. Others should have been taken care of, but no one told me to take care of them. So it was two in the afternoon and I suddenly needed registering for taxes, health insurance and, to top it all off, my bank had somehow misplaced the scans they'd made last week and wanted me to pop by and fill it all in again, since I was getting no bank account until they had them.
Here's a fun fact about Germany. Office hours are rigid. They're strict. And they usually stop at four pm. All places I had to go were nowhere near one another. I looked up a few things and figured I could make the bank and the tax authority building today, and then I'd see about the rest. I was lucky it's Thursday. Some offices close ridiculously early on Wednesdays, then stay open late on Thursdays.
The tax thing was so confusing that even the people working there had no idea what was wanted. I explained everything I knew, and they did their best.
Then, I took Boyfriend's bike and tried going to the bank. Everything was fine with it, Boyfriend said, except it felt really slow when riding it. I got on it and had to fold myself like a pretzel. The tires were the consistency of melty taffy. Oh, and the gears were cranked up to the highest setting. I kid you not, there was a child between eight and twelve riding a bike at the same height of steering wheel and seat as I was.The gears, I could adjust. I did not have time to crack out my toolbox and bicycle pump and cue the A-team theme tune. It's on my to-do list, though.
I eventually got to the bank by moving my knees in tiny circles about four inches in diameter. The official entrance, which had been under renovation in the last four months, was re-opened. The old entrance was out of bounds. I was really confused. There was a small tea party being held inside to celebrate, meaning that the tellers were a bit understaffed. Hey, I'd be knocking back Caprisuns, too, if I had the choice between that and servicing some sweaty foreigner holding three different pieces of identification (the city says I have to) and a letter saying 'Error in data entry'. But eventually it was my turn. I got a different person this week, who was stunned that I was sent to enter data that was entered in an online form that does not get processed when it's incomplete. He admitted it made very little sense. I admitted I was getting used to the German bureaucratic system freaking out every time I lifted a pen.
By the time I got back to the middle point of my little triangle of places to demand registration from (better known as the two houses where J., W., Sis, Boyfriend and me live), it was getting dark. Boyfriend's bike has no lamps. My bike has lamps, but a back tire that is going flat faster and faster every time I pump it up. The insurance building was three kilometers away under perfect circumstances, and I wasn't sure I had enough time to walk there and still get service.
W., when we crashed his party earlier that day, had been knee-deep in paperwork.
So I snuck into the studio to see if J. was done early today. She had work until at least six, and the insurance company closed at half past five today and three tomorrow. The earliest I could possibly get there would be Tuesday if I didn't make it today.
I didn't consider asking Sis. She sold her car two days ago. But J. asked if she had a lot of work left, and Sis said she'd happily drive me in fifteen minutes. J. sent me to fetch some ID photos from home, since there was a good chance I'd need some. Fifteen minutes passed and I was
There were road works. Freaky, freaky road works that made the trip even longer. Also, Sis had changed insurance companies a few years ago, and hadn't been to the building in ages. Google insisted we only had to drive for six minutes. A realistic estimate would have been fifteen.
A nice lady at the desk asked why we were there. I said I was a foreigner looking for health insurance so my boss could fufill his legal duty and pay for it, which meant my job registration could be fufilled. She called a colleague and directed us to a desk.
The colleage showed up within thirty seconds. I opened my mouth and started talking. The very pleasant woman asked where I was from. I told her and she apologised profusely and asked if we'd mind terribly moving across the very big room to another desk, where she had the forms for that.
I was feeling so downright pessimistic at that point, I decided we wouldn't be out of there before closing time. The tax officials themselves had no idea what certification had what name, banks failed to ask for information they legally needed... Why would Germany's largest health insurance provider be any different?
Well, because they're Germany's largest health care provider, and for good reasons.
The woman knew exactly which forms were needed, where they were and what information was necessary. The other woman in the cubicle scanned my identifications while our helpful angel looked up where W.'s company was in the database, which pieces of insurance paperwork things I still needed done ('everything' was an adequate answer, fufilled by ticking all the four boxes on the form) and we were done. I got a card, should any problems arise, with the lady's contact information, and both Sis and me got a towel. I was slightly baffled by this, but it was nice nonetheless.
Sis drove me home, where I realised I didn't have any more paperwork that needed doing right now. At least until Monday, I don't believe I can do anything by writing or so.
Which means I get to prepare for my parents visiting. Yeah, that realisation lit a fire under my backside.
So far, I've showered, folded laundry, started doing laundry, did the dishes, cooked dinner and brought it to my heart of hearts and sorted out the trash. I'd bring it downstairs, but my brain, after three months, still thinks green is for organic waste, black is for all waste and paper should go in bright blue. The color code is different in Germany, and it won't stick into my head. I'm going to have to ask Boyfriend to take it down later today or tomorrow. And the weekend will probably be dedicated to vacuuming, scrubbing floors, dusting, tidying and tackling the dog so we can put him under the shower. And, of course, more laundry.
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