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October 27, 2005
Flirting With...Red Tape. Again!
From Michelle, Frustrated in Rotterdam...
Yes, once again I am doing battle with Dutch Red Tape.
But why, I hear you all cry? We thought you'd sorted out all that pesky red tape here and here.
It's a long story. You have been warned...
Well, a little while ago Oh Patient One and I told my niece (whom we fondly refer to as Teenager #3) that if she was serious about taking a year out before college, and if she wanted to do this in a different culture for the experience of it (i.e., in the Netherlands with us, rather than in the UK), then our door was open. Of course, there was bound to be some red tape, but what the hell...I could help her wade through it, no problemo. Or so we thought...
After she arrives we go to the town hall to find out what documentation she needs to register (it's the law that she has to register, but then again the law has changed since we moved here last year so better to check). After a gazillion billion hours (feels like) of waiting in line just to explain our business to the receptionist and hopefully, if we pass muster, to get a ticket number from the receptionist so that we can then get in another line and wait another billion hours to see a town hall representative, Unfriendly Receptionist hands us three forms and tells us that they have to be completed before she can give us a ticket.
Form #1 is basically for Teenager #3 to Tell Her Life Story (seems like) and also to Tell The Life Story of her family. Okay, not a problem. Piece of cake.
Form #2 is for her sponsor to fill in. Sponsor? I am bit baffled by this because the Netherlands is a European Union (EU) country and residents of any other EU country (um, like the UK) can move over here and live and work. It's a bit like the United States of Europe, in theory. Plucking up my courage I flash Unfriendly Receptionist my friendliest smile.
"Um, can you please tell me why we need to comlete this form?" I ask in my friendliest voice. "Because surely Teenager #3 is allowed to move and live here due to that, you know, EU connection thing."
"It's the law," Unfriendly Receptionist growls back at me (and guess what? She's definitely not smiling).
"Um, my husband and I live here in Rotterdam. We are responsible for Teenager #3. Rather like parents, in fact. Can we complete the form?" (More friendly smiling from me, because it can't hurt, can it?)
"Yes, but you need to include copies of your passports."
Owkey. We're making progress, here.
And then I look at Form #3. It is for Teenager #3's landlord to complete to confirm she is living at the address she says she is living at.
"But she's living with my husband and I. We already had our landlord fill out the same form when we registered," I tell Unfriendly Receptionist. "Can't I just bring in that form? Because we're the ones paying the rent."
"That makes no difference," Unfriendly receptionist says. "You have to ask your landlord to fill in the form and to confirm that your niece is allowed to live in your apartment. It's the law. Plus we get our kicks from torturing poor, hapless clients, mwahahahaha."
No, she didn't really say that last part, but by now my smile is starting to slip.
"So we can't see a representative until we do all this?" I ask.
"No." Unfriendly Receptionist glances at her watch. I wonder, briefly, if she's due a break, but first she has to deal with that pesky thing called, well, her job.
"Can you tell me if there's anything else we need to bring with us when we come back, apart from these forms, copies of our passports and Teenager #3's passport and birth certificate?" After all, it makes sense to ensure we don't have to get in line again only to find out that the town hall needs a copy of her entire school history right back to pre-school, or photos from every school concert, or an eye exam, or whatever. Plus, I am now pissed with Unfriendly Receptionist and am determined to make her wait as long as possible for her break.
"I'm not a representative, therefore not an expert," Unfriendly Receptionist tells me, smirking rather evilly. "You have to wait until you see a representative. But you can't see the representative until those forms are filled out. It's just something we do to torture all our clients, mwahahahahaha."
No, she didn't really say that last part, but by now my head is spinning and I just want to go home and drink tea.
The next day, after collecting every single piece of documentation I can possibly think of and more, Teenager #3 and I trip along to the offices of the large real-estate company that leases our apartment to us. There's bound to be a problem. I know this, because there just always is.
Well, Nice Receptionist cannot speak English (a rarity here in the Netherlands), but I manage to explain in my terrible Dutch what it is that we need. My Dutch turns out to be not as terrible as I think it is, because she understands me. Yay! Nice Receptionist tells us that it's not a problem (or rather, geen probleem), she calls through to one of her colleagues and Nice Colleague completes the form and stamps it with the company's official stamp, and we're out of there in ten minutes.
If only everything in life were that simple!
So we go to the town hall and the line is now out of the door and we just can't face standing in line for a gazillion billion hours only to be be tortured by another unfriendly receptionist, so we decide that we'll go back the next day.
The next morning we go back at the crack of dawn and, joy of joys, there are hardly any people at all on line. This is surely a good sign, I think to myself. We get to the front of the line and, yippeee, we are being seen by a different receptionist and this one is smiling. Another great sign!
Unfortunately, she is only smiling because she is about to torture us.
"You haven't got two photos of your niece, as is required before I can give you a ticket to see a representative," Unfriendly Receptionist #2 tells me, her smile turning into a smirk.
"You have really bad stinking breath and really bad stinking body odor," I smirk back at her, because two can play at her game. Actually, I don't say that at all because knowing my luck I will get her again on the return trip and she will definitely not give me a ticket to see a representative. Ever. Instead, I say, "Have a nice day," and Teenager #3 and I head out of the town hall. But not before I discreetly flip Unfriendly Receptionist the bird...
So Teenager #3 and I go and get photos done, head back to the town hall, and the line is now a gazillion billion people long, and we are so disheartened by the thought of standing in line for a million trillion hours only to be told that we can't have a ticket to see a representative, so we go home.
Next day, again at the crack of dawn, we head back to the town hall. The line is short, receptionist #3 is nice and friendly and gives us our longed for ticket to see a representative and, joy of joys, after a short wait it's actually our turn!
"I cannot register your niece," Unfriendly Representative tells me, smirking in a very unpleasant way (do they take lessons in how to do this?) "First she needs to get a letter from her parents, copies of her parents' passports, her birth certificate needs to be aposteeled (that's notarized to you and me) by the UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London. Oh, and then she has to get a job and then her employer has to fill out this packet of forms," she adds, holding out an impressive looking packet.
I don't say a word. I mean, what's the point?
Anyway, when we get home I call the tax office to see what hoops we have to jump through to get Teenager #3 a tax number. Because this is bound to be a problem. And after I fumble my way through the Dutch recorded menu options, I finally get a real human being on the end of the line. And, oh yay, it is a real human being in the right department!
"Your niece just needs her UK passport," Nice Tax Person tells me. "I can make her an appointment to come in and see us if you like."
"Are you sure?" I ask, because this seems too easy.
"Yes - the Netherlands is an EU country," Nice Tax Person says in a very friendly voice. "And as the UK is also an EU country your niece has the right to live and work here. Let me see when we have an opening for you."
Well, knock me down with a feather.
However, the appointment with the tax office is on Halloween, so I'm not holding my breath...
Michelle
Posted by Michelle at 6:29 AM | Comments (3)
Comments
You are going through all of this so that a teenager can live with you. The mind boggles. There are days that I don't know that I would do all that work for my own teenagers to live with me.
Posted by: Maureen at October 27, 2005 2:03 PM
A-freakin'-mazing! We in the States don't realize how lucky we are. Hang in there. I don't know how you go through all this and write books, too. And good ones.
Sending you good vibes for nice, helpful people.
Posted by: BeeJay at October 28, 2005 2:13 AM
Update: poor Teenager #3 has had enough and is going back home for now, with a view to coming back next summer. We'll really miss her so much!
Michelle
Posted by: Michelle C at October 30, 2005 8:25 AM
