...because I have an American passport

For the sake of saving 10% from my paycheck, I embarked on a visa-stamping-wasting-hours-from-my-single-girl-life adventure yesterday.

It all started at 8:10am when I walked into the "Oficina de Extranjeria" right across "La Moneda", world-famous for being the target of several CIA helicopter bombs in 1973. The irony was not lost on me. Right, I walked in with my grown-up black teacher bag, suit jacket, and shades acting like a headband into a room full of estranged Ecuadoreans and Peruvians. Twenty minutes later all hell broke loose when one of the officials came to turn on the ticket machine (before you can be seen, you must get a numbered ticket a la supermarket deli). Said official`s response to the chaos was for everyone to get back in the line we had been in for the past half hour. When that didn`t work he started ranting about how "We (the people waiting) should act like civilized people and make a line." A Chilean saying this to Ecuadoreans and Peruvians is right up there with some dude asking a young black man fifty years ago to prove his capacity for reasoning before submitting a vote for president. Sensing a shift in tension like a good anthropologist I walked to the back of the line in silent protest to all the absurdity going down. My altruism was soon checked when I shoved two nuns to get to the counter when my number was called.

High on the rush of checking off errands from my Palm Pilot I went to the "Policia Internacional" to formally register myself. Like in Chile, or something. As I walked to my designated detective I passed by another who was railing at a Peruvian dude trying to register himself. As my detective asked me basic questions about my marital status and income, the asshole detective mocked the Peruvian for not understanding formal Spanish and not knowing his address. As I sat there I felt indignation but I also felt very grateful. Suddenly every humiliation my parents faced in the course of obtaining a US green card, residency, and finally citizenship was compensated. I, their daughter, was sitting across from a smug detective who couldn`t talk down to me for many reasons. The main one being I had an American passport. It`s stupid and lame but painfully true. I wish my Peruvian dude luck and will have a new message to write in my next father`s day card.

My next stop was the "Registro Civil" to take a photo for my ID card. After almost two hours standing in line I got a moment with an official, only to be told that Chile still considers me one of her citizens. Which probably makes my visa and police registration superfluous. In the end, I saved about fifty cents and got the Chilean ID card. I picked up two empanadas, went to my new apartment, and passed out in my empty room.