Another Day, Another Office

Just because you retire and move to a foreign country, doesn't mean you're exempt from life's little mundane tasks.  Today's task, and I have a goal of completing once such task per day, was a visit to the Poste Italiane.  Most Americans go to the Post office for stamps, mailing packages, or on occasion to apply for a passport.  The post office in Italy, however, is a whole other animal.  At this post office you can invest money, have a bank account, in fact, a myriad of unusual things, including paying your bills.  My job today was to pay the electric bill.  Me and several hundred other people.

Since this is the central Poste Italiane, the waiting room is quite large, however there are only about 50 chairs, so 150 other people are milling around patiently, or not so patiently, waiting their turn at the 15 or so windows.  There are 5 windows for documents, 1 window for stamps, 3 windows for god knows what and 4 windows for bill paying.  When I arrive there are 100 people ahead of me for those 4 precious bill paying windows.  I am fortunate enough to grab one of the seats and set about one of my favorite pastimes...people watching.

 

The view of the port, La Lanterna and the Maritime Alps from our window

I wish I had the nerve to take surreptitious photographs of people!  There are some fabulous faces here.  Renaissance faces and medieval faces, faces that stepped right out of the paintings of Van Dyke and Rubens whose paintings line the walls of Genoa's churches and museums.  The beautiful, the not so beautiful and the downright ugly.  My favorite face for today was a man, probably in his late 50's, typically Italian in stature with a face that could stop a train.  Nothing fit.  Quite the ugliest person I've seem since I got here.  But, he carried himself with such grace, he clearly doesn't know he's ugly, and I love him for it.

At about this point, I have been sitting in the post office for a little over an hour and there are still 30 people ahead of me.  And, it's getting late.  I don't know what time the post office closes, but Italian offices are not known for their long hours and all of those people who've already been helped and left have been replaced by another 70 people, more, 140 people.  What will happen if the post office closes?  Will we be locked in...will we be locked out?  I don't know.  What do Italians do when they can't pay their electric bill?  Do they riot?  Do they throw chairs like at soccer games?  No, that's the Brits, so probably no chair throwing.  I'm now beginning to regret that I didn't do this at lunchtime.  I know that no self-respecting Italian would waste a perfectly good 3 hour lunch break to pay bills!  This place is empty at lunchtime.  But no, I have to wander in at 4:00 pm when everybody wants to do the same thing.  Finally, after another half hour of anxiety and doubt, my number flashes on the board and I sprint to the window.  (It's important to wear good running shoes to the post office because if you don't move fast, they'll flash to the next number and then you have to fight the little old lady with the cane and the Reeboks to get your turn.)  I quickly pay my bill and leave.  As I walk out the door, I realize that I don't have an answer to my question.  What happens when the Poste Italiane closes?  The answer to this question will have to wait until next month when I return to pay the gas bill.

 

La Borsa Nuova, once home of the Italian Stock Exchange.