My grandmother can officially never see this blog

I rode a motorcycle for the first time. In Buenos Aires. Without a helmet. With a stranger. Ha.

It happened like this. Thursday was a horrendous day. It was the day the entire group of exchange students was supposed to go to the Visa office to get our student visas. Angeles, the exchange student coordinator, warned us that it could take all day, and that we needed to arrive at the office at 7:30 am. I thought this was merely a scare tactic to ensure that all students actually showed up. I was so wrong.

I got to the Visa office at 7:30..ish. In preparation for this visit, I had been required to pay for a criminal background check in another government office. I had gotten the criminal background check, but upon having it reviewed, Angeles decided that it was too blurry ("borroso") and that I would have to go get another copy of it. So I returned to the criminal background office and got another copy of it the day before I went to get my Visa.

So back to the Visa office. The 40 or so exchange students huddled in front of the 3 desks of the government workers processing Visas. A light displaying numbers was lit up as the day began. But did we receive numbers to indicate our turn in line? No. Apparently, they were going to process everyone else who had received numbers and process our forms every third person or so.

But look, I don't need to get into the specifics. It was a terrible day. I went to sleep for 3 hours on a plastic chair. I woke up and bought $.60 coffee from a woman selling it out of a thermos. After 5 hours, it was my turn. I brought my paperwork up, and the woman took a look at my criminal background check. Translated from the Spanish to the English, this is how the ensuing conversation went.

Visa Woman: Your passport number on the criminal background check is wrong.
Me: No it isn't.
VW: Yes it is. Look here: there is a one where there should be a seven.
Me: Oh.
Me: You know, a one is very similar to a seven.
VW: I cannot give you a Visa, I'm sorry.
Me: Blank stare.
VW: I'm sorry.
Me: I'm sorry too. I have waited here for five hours, and I would like my Visa please.
VW: I'm sorry.
Me: You know I have not committed any crimes here. Please just give me a Visa.
VW: I'm sorry, you have to get another criminal background check form.
Me: It is very easy to change a one to a seven.
VW: I'm sorry.
Me: This is ridiculous. Good day.

To make this already long story a little bit shorter, I took a taxi to the criminal background check office, threw a hissy fit there, was bumped to the front of the line, took a taxi back to the Visa office, was bumped to the front of the line there, and received my visa after 7 hours of work. As a side note, if the Argentine president appointed me Czarina of Criminal Background Checks, this country would be running a lot smoother.

Horrendous. I went home, completely exhausted, and fell asleep until about 9 at night, when I woke up starving. There is not much vegetarian fare for me to eat in this meat-loving country, but there is pizza (lots and lots of italians here). So I decided to try to find myself some good pizza.

I looked up in my guide book what was supposed to be the best pizza in my neighborhood. I left my apartment in search of the pizza. And what did I see when I stepped outside? A pizza delivery man from the restaurant I was looking for, sitting on a motorcycle.

You know what happens from there. Pizza delivery man and I rode off into the night. He delivered me safely to his pizza place. I ordered a spinach pizza, 2 empanadas, and a coca light. I made my way home, ate my delicious pizza, and watched the Simpsons in Spanish.

The end.