Or like yesterday. The partner is going to Ghana, West Africa for a business trip. (I'm not going as Ghana is one of those places where they still put you in jail for sodomy.) Of course to go to Ghana you need to have vaccinations and a visa. His company was supposed to arrange for his visa. Guess who had to arrange for his vaccinations. Me.
So last Thursday I took him up to the local health clinic. He finally had his paperwork processed for his medical card. (That process has been going on for months.) And he needed me to tag along to explain his situation. Luckily the woman at the front counter spoke enough English to tell him they don't do vaccinations at the local clinic. She gave him an over-photocopied paper with the addresses of all the clinics that do vaccinations in the area. No problem. We've been here long enough to know that they're always going to send you to someone else. That's how Spain's bureaucracy works.
We chose the closest place to home, Belvitge, a thirty-minute train ride away. The next day the partner had an appointment in the morning so we took the afternoon to go get his shots. I googled it so we'd know where the heck we were going. (That's another reason I went, to be a navigator. The partner could get lost in a particularly large bathroom stall.) The hospital is about a twenty minute walk from the nearest train station. Not bad. So we decided to walk instead of navigating the Metro or trying to catch the right bus.
We had no problem whatsoever finding the right building. Belvitge is a human bee hive, nothing but ugly apartment blocks and highways. There are exactly two buildings that don't look identical to all the others. One is the hotel, which resembles a high-rise with a big blue jiffy-pop pan stuck to its side. The other is the hospital.
Let me take a moment to describe the hospital. To say it's big would be litotes of the most offensive variety. This leviathan of a conglomeration of medical facilities has its own zip code. (That was NOT exaggeration.) The first two massive multi-story structures we walked past were just the university classroom buildings associated with the hospital. Next came a giant concrete and glass fortress without signage. We decided to try in there. The very nice lady at the information desk gave us a map. An effing map of the hospital. She also directed us to the correct building and told us to look for preventative medicine. We had barely delved a third of the way in. That's how Spain's bureaucracy works.
The next (and the largest) place we went past was the main hospital. It comprised all the normal hospital-type services you could think of but NOT preventative medicine. By itself it was the biggest hospital I'd ever seen and included a cluster of round towers and several hulking wings. Our destination lay beyond the main building.
The correct building was about the size one might expect of a metropolitan hospital. And we had to walk all the way around it to get to the entrance. At the front desk I asked where preventative medicine was. The rather bored-looking young woman directed us to the fourth floor. We went up. We walked in. No one was at the front desk. We waited. We got bored. We looked around. No one was in any of the several offices. The cabinets and refrigerators where the vaccines were stored were unlocked and available to any passers by. If he hadn't needed a certificate we could have easily stolen the inoculations and done it ourselves. But he needs the certificate. That's how Spain's bureaucracy works.
We went back to the front desk on the ground floor and asked the bored-looking woman when they would all be back. I think she said something like "I don't know. We're just the dentists." (She was the secretary for the Orthodontia wing.) We went back up and waited some more.
An old woman tottered by and pilfered through the empty offices. She seemed to know what was going on so I asked her when everybody would be back. "I don't know," she said. "It's friday. They'll be back on Monday maybe." It was at that moment we realized that Thursday had been a holiday (Sant Jordi's Day). The Spanish usually take a "bridge" day if a holiday falls on Thursday or Tuesday. That's how Spain's bureaucracy works.
We went home.
On Monday we tried again. This time we knew which building to go to. This time someone was manning the desk and the lobby was crowded with patients. When I explained the partner's situation to the lady behind the front desk of the preventative medicine department she nodded sagely and told me they'd have the (required for entry into Ghana) yellow fever vaccine on May 12. When I haltingly explained that the partner needed the vaccine for a trip on Wednesday she said "Wednesday! Wednesday? It's not possible." She gave us a (not photocopied this time) list of all the places that do vaccinations in the area. Again we'd been sent somewhere else. That's how Spain's bureaucracy works.
Next came an hour of standing outside while the partner yelled into his bluetooth earpiece. Yes, he's one of THOSE people you seen in airports who you first think are crazy and then realize are just rude. He called the listed number of the next closest place, in downtown Barcelona. When he couldn't understand what the woman was saying he handing the bloody thing to me. I can understand fuck-all in Spanish over the phone. It just goes by too fast and there are no facial and body-language clues. So all I was able to do was to confirm that he could make an appointment for the day their vaccine came in. The day was May 12. That's how Spain's bureaucracy works.
She told him there was an "emergency" clinic and gave him the number. He called it. There was no answer. He called her back. For the next forty-five minutes he yelled the same handful of words repeatedly: Urgencia! Vacinaciones! por ma trabajo! escussa! miercoles! Ghana en Africa! febre amarillo! Hoy! Urgencia! Vacinaciones! por ma trabajo! escussa! miercoles! Ghana en Africa! febre amarillo! Hoy! Urgencia! Vacinaciones! por ma trabajo! escussa! miercoles! Ghana en Africa! febre amarillo! Hoy!
The words for today, emergency, Wednesday, and work were pretty close to their Spanish counterparts. His version of vaccination sounded French. And his word for sorry was nearer Italian than any language I know.
Finally (thank god!) we decided to try to go to the Drasanes office downtown. The partner continued to try his luck on the phone. On the way I kept my distance. I didn't want to be associated with the strange Englishman screaming Italian to no one in particular. And I can assure you I'm surprised he didn't have the crazy police called on him for all the bewildered looks he was getting in the street. Thank goodness he couldn't get a signal on the Metro.
I navigated us to Drasanes (the street where the emergency vaccine clinic was located.) Luckily it's a fairly short road. We found the medical center and were directed to the correct office. The person behind the counter told us to come back at seven in the afternoon. I asked her if they could do it earlier. (I could understand her since it wasn't over the phone.) She explained that they only do "emergency" vaccinations at seven p.m. That's how Spain's bureaucracy works.
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