Today: get on somewhat empty tram, go to police station. Have copies in hand and fill out form. Bureaucrat says, "You need to make this an official document. Go to municipality."
Get back on more crowded tram to go home, get original, and go down the street to have some lady stamp our papers and have help from a man behind us who thinks we don't understand what's being said to us. Has anyone over here ever heard of WAITING IN LINE BEHIND THE LINE ON THE FLOOR instead of crowding around the window? 'Cuz it's been three months and still I'm looking for the pieces of own private bubble that has been shattered numerous times.
So, get back on a REALLY crowded tram and get off at the police station. Bureaucrat #2 says we need documentation this time proving our landlord really is our landlord. "But if it is easier on you, he can bring all your paperwork with him." Right, like I'm going to hand over my passport to a practical stranger. I think not.
Get on yet another tram and while I fume, we head out to a bridal salon. There are approximately six dresses on mannequins that are all way smaller than me. The store owner doesn't speak one ounce of English, so poor Wiley is stuck in the middle translating. Uneasiness abounds. The lady told me since I'm practically a midget, I should stick to A-line/princess cuts. Well, that narrows down the choices.
After that experience, we tried a turkey kebap, which was fine, then found a DVD/computer games/CD shop. We now own an unofficial copy of Superbad. This is a nice end to a rotten day. My big glass of Bailey's should help.