Residency: The Second First Renewal

Finally, we headed back this morning to the National Police to pick up our new residency cards. Our last renewed cards were good for two years (until July 2014), but then we moved and changed provinces (from Sevilla to Málaga) and had to obtain new cards with our current address. We submitted the paperwork early April and returned in May to pick up the cards, having been told they would be ready in 30 days. Not so. The official document said 45 days. The English guy at the information desk was so unbelievably unpleasant (downright nasty) that we dreaded returning for more abuse.

MOOSE (AT THE BACK WINDOW): "WHERE ARE YOU GOING SO EARLY? CAN I COME?
CAN YOU AT LEAST OPEN THE TERRACE DOOR?"

San Geraldo waited in one line (for foreigners) while I waited to confirm with the ogre that we were doing the right thing. He was gruff and unpleasant, but not vicious, and I managed to keep my cool, smile, and pretend I liked him. He told me, or at least I was able to understand from the stabbing of his finger at the piece of paper in my hand that 9-11 a.m. was appointments only. We did not and could not have an appointment to pick up our cards, so we had to return after 11. It was 9:30. We walked the few blocks to the beach and sat down at a cafe for our morning coffees. We had an hour and a half to kill. What else could we possibly do to fill the time except to order some pastries? I'm just calling it my fourth birthday dessert.

THE VIEW WHILE WE KILLED SOME TIME. NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT.

THE VIEW WHILE WE KILLED SOME MORE TIME.
SAN GERALDO HATES WALNUTS. I LOVE THEM. I INDULGED. IT IS MY BIRTHDAY WEEK.

At 10:50, we walked back up the street to the police station. We waited about 5 minutes and were called to a table by a man in uniform. We gave him our paperwork and old cards; he scanned our fingerprints and gave us our new cards. We think we know how it works now. The process isn't problematic except that no one tells you how it's done. The only resource for that is the ogre at the front desk. In nine months, we'll start again. Maybe the ogre will have retired. Anyway, I won't think about that now.

ON THE WAY HOME. THE OGRE, LONG FORGOTTEN.