beautiful city

my dream job? a Diet Coke Girl hawking free cans on the street corner...welcome to my application portfolio. I KID, I KID. unless of course, they actually offered me a job.

the windblown look-O'Connell Street, Dublin 1

it's always sunny in dublindelphia

Today we spent the day walking around beautiful, sunny, gorgeous Dublin. It wasn't for enjoyment--no it was because nobody in this country knows how anything works. I will admit that government bureaucracy is not limited to Ireland but today made me think they are on a special Top Ten list.

After an eventful day at the GNIB on Monday, I will mention that they would not give hubby his GNIB identification card because they did not believe he was actually enrolled in school. We had a letter written from the school saying he was attending but although the letter proved our address, the letter did not mention payment. We were obviously lying. So add another day onto the 6 hours we spent there on Monday in order to get a receipt for tuition payments and he ended up with a lovely little plastic card with crooked printing that proves he is welcome here. Upon receipt of said card, we were astonished to discover that hubby did not receive a PPSN or Personal Public Service Number on his card. Here we had been told by the immigration officer entering the country, by our apartment rental agent (who desperately wanted to get hubby's PPS number), and by just about every other person in Dublin that the GNIB gave out PPS numbers. Wrong. You have to go to the Office of Social Services. Which one? Any one.

Cut ahead to us arriving at the Social Services in Temple Bar which is in Dublin 2. Pan to large sign in window stating that this office only provides PPS numbers to those residing in Dublin 2 and Dublin 4. Excellent since we live in Dublin 1. We ask for directions to the Dublin 1 office. I wont get into how Dubliners give directions (save that for another day) but suffice to say the office we were looking for was "just at the top of the street, turn left, and you can't miss it".

Cut ahead to us wandering aimlessly for an hour near what we decided was the "top" of the street. We enter the Irish Aid Office (sounds vaguely like Social Services right?) to ask directions and are informed that the Social Services is NOT the place to get your PPS number. Oh really? Yes really. It's at the Office of Revenue. Just around the corner.

Arrival. IS THIS WHERE WE GET A PPS NUMBER? No. WELL I JUST MIGHT EXPLODE. DO YOU REALIZE THAT PEOPLE IN CHARGE TOLD US TO COME HERE? They dont know what they are talking about. You really needed to go to the Office of Social Services at the top of the street. I DEMAND A DETAILED MAP. Ok fine, just calm down please.

Final arrival and whaddayaknow: It's a line. To get a ticket. To make an appointment for later in the day. To arrive and wait in line. To hear your ticket called. Around 5pm hubby got his PPS number. I now have a spouse who is a full-time international student recognized by the Irish State and I don't care anymore either.