Bouquets of the Day

With the summer holiday season just around the corner, I thought it timely to update my passport. Both my loving wife and I had renewed our NZ passports at the same time, and they were both coming up to expiry dates. So it was time. Anyway, being about a squillion miles away from the passport office in Wellington, our nearest passport port of call is London. Having dealt with English beaurocracy a couple of times, I was a LITTLE apprehensive about the ability of a UK based office to perform under pressure. But, we downloaded the forms, paid the price of a Bangkok purchased kidney each, and sent our applications off via super fast carrier pigeon to NZ House in London. Never expecting to hear a word from them ever again. Loe and behold, if we don't just get an email from the NZ embassy, 10 days later, to tell us that two brand spanking new passports were currently flapping their way uphill to Sweden ! I'm all for having a joke at someone else's expense, and I did admire the embassy staff for their humour and their ability to hold a straight face. Two days later and there was egg on mine, as a shiny courier package and a couple of stray feathers popped down on my desk from above. One passport, as requested. I twisted it a bit, held it up to the light, chewed on one corner. it was the real deal. You couldn't make up stuff like that.

So that was half the mission completed. Now I needed a new immigration status sticker to be stuck into my flash new passport. And that, my friends, involved a visit to the infamous Migrationsverket. On the positive side, the regional office who deals with this kind of crap, just happens to be about a 90 second gentle skip down the garden path from our home. It does share the building with the local police, so one needs to be on one's best behaviour. Coincidence ?

Migrationsverket (immigration department) gets a pretty bad rap here in Sweden. People dying of old age whilst waiting for a work permit to be issued, and all that. I didn't hold out great hopes for my visit there, if I'm to be honest. I don't want to get into it here why some groups of people appear to be unable to organise themselves for an official meeting, it's just the way it is. Anyhow, it's not possible to book a time at our local office, so I resigned myself to turning up and sitting it out for as long as it took. Some days you just have to accept the system.

So I strolled on down to Migrationsverket. New passport in one mitt, old passport in the other mitt. I thought I should probably take the old one with me in case there was an dispute over me previously being the owner of a residency pemit sticker. I took my mandetory number at the door. I noted that there were about 15 numbers in front of me, and about 45 minutes before the office shut. Looked like it could be a photo finish. For once, luck was on my side. About half of the people in the queue in front of me, must have eaten each other prior to my arrive, as they didn't show up when their number was buzzed. It was looking better for me. I saw one really confused looking guy sitting in the corner with what looked like every piece of paper that he owned in the world. I figured we should probably allow half an hour just for him. But first up was a young couple. He was clearly a Swede, and she was rather obviously from out of town. If people weren't meant to eavesdrop, then there wouldn't be a word for it. And I'm not one to waste such things. So I hear the guy ask about how one went about extending a tourist visa. The staff member asked when his "companion's" visa was due to expire. Tomorrow, was his response. You know what ? It's people like him who give Swedes a bad name. There's just no helping some people. And he was rightly told as much.

Next up was a woman enquiring abut the status of her boyfriend's application for a visa. The very pleasant staff member checked on her computer, and reported that a decision was a few months away yet. This was clearly the wrong answer, and the employee was told the error of her ways and an excuse was demanded as to why it was taking so long. How about the fact that your internet soulmate of 6 weeks is not the only person trying to scam his way into the country at the moment ? Ever consider that ? So anyway, she stormed out vowing to drag her local member of parliament out of the neighbourhood strip club and give him a piece of her mind. I suspect that wouldn't have taken very long. I wish her luck. And Jose.

Then we had the paper king. Staggering his way to the desk under enough paper to heat his home for 8 months. In his defence, he wasn't the tallest immigrant in the world. So it may have looked worse than it was. The migrationsverket lady wrestled the mountain from him, took one look at what appeared to be a letter on the top, said thank you to him, and then buzzed for the next customer. What ? Talk about an anticlimax. I felt robbed. But, no time to dwell on that, because I was up next. With a decent 3 minutes left until closing time.

Flashing my best winning smile and all set to compliment her on her latest rinse and set, I bounded forward. Presenting myself and my passports, I explained that I needed a new sticker for my new passport. Prepared for a good verbal battle, I'd been practicing my lines all morning. She took both passport, studied them intently, and then disappeared off around the corner to a hidden cubicle. Uh oh, the dreaded "supervisor". Here we go. Now worries, pal, I'm ready for you and all. She was gone a couple of mintes befor re-appearing with both passports. Without saying a word, she handed them back to me. Ok, clearly this local branch wasn't equipped to do this work. At that moment I realised that both passports were open, and I could see an identical sticker in each of them. She'd only gone and done it, bless her chubby little arms. And with about 30 seconds to spare before knocking off time.

So that's me taken care of for the next 5 years. A huge load off of my mind having a valid NZ passport again. A massive "Hell Yeah" to the staff of NZ House in London and to Migrationsverket in Boden for a commitment above and beyond. That's what medals like the Victoria Cross were invented for. Say what you like about them, they're alright in my books.