Lunch at 13.30

She is about 50 years-old with curly – but tired – blond hair, visibly tinted. She has a bespectacled face, scarred by 25 years of red-tape. Her middle-aged eyebrows are constantly raised while her grey-green eyes remain only half-open, as if defying the force of gravity. She has a Dutch accent whilst speaking Spanish and will without doubt turn into what John Cleese calls a pepper pot (a complaining, moaning old woman, shaped as a pepper pot) after reaching the age of retirement, something she craves for every hour of the day. And what is most important of all: she has lunch every day at 13.30. If not, she will die of hunger, that most uncomfortable of deaths.
Various other pepper pots

Unfortunately I know all this because I encountered this champion heroin of bureaucracy in my quest of achieving the relatively simple. I am applying for a traineeship within the Dutch government. At present I have proceeded to the second round for which I have to complete a psychological test in Woerden, a sleepy town close to Utrecht. As I can’t fly to the Netherlands on such short notice the Dutch government offered that I could do the test at the Dutch embassy in Madrid. For this I just need a computer with Internet connection for two hours and someone within the embassy checking my ID. Nothing more.

However, before even been given a real chance to start a career with the Dutch government I have already created one enemy – a nemesis – amongst one of my future colleagues. However, the pure determination of this woman to avoid any type of improvisation, creativity or diplomatic skill to help me out has to be admired.

Our first confrontation took place the Friday before last. The day before I had placed a call requesting the exam by phone. I was told that I was to be phoned back as soon as possible. A day passed with silence from their part so I decided to make the trip up north to Avenida Comandante Franco changing two metro-lines along the way. I arrived at 13.01. The friendly Spanish security man let me pass without any problems. Nice – although slightly bored – man.

In the waiting room I was reunited with my former compatriots. A lost passport. The registration of a new-born child. Regular stuff for the experienced embassy personnel. 13.25. The man behind the glass protected reception looked satisfied. His thought “only one more before we close for the afternoon” was betrayed by his facial expression. I repeated my request as it was the same man who I spoke with by phone a day earlier. His features read “oh yeah”. Confusion. “This is not a regular task,” he contemplated, “a mysterious exam, a psychological test at the embassy.” The panic stricken civil servant hurried away. I had won the first battle, but was ill-prepared for my next opponent.

She listened attentively to the message-man who was pleased enough not to handle such an unheard of request and start with his lunch – without doubt a Gouda cheese sandwich (why change to Spanish eating habits when you can enjoy Dutch cuisine?). After hearing her colleague out I observed how the woman quickly thought of a strategy before slowly making a move to the glass protected desk – her natural habitat and preferred battleground.

As I saw her marching towards me I reasoned to myself: “Maybe she will actually help me. This woman could be my mother.” By nature, I am a positive man.

Two seconds passed between her arriving at the desk and the opening of her sour, yellow stained mouth – an experienced but foul weapon. She was taking her time. “My colleague informed me of your situation….,” she started.

She paused briefly, obviously going through her well drilled and finely trained bureaucratic rhetoric and then routinely uttered that pedigree phrase – a favorite amongst civil servants: “…and sir, it’s impossible.” A subtle blow delivered with a customary sigh of monotony. Authority, however, was nowhere to be found.

Now I am a polite boy, but I knew that my request could hardly be impossible. I tried to reason with the woman. “Mevrouw,” I pleaded, “I only need a computer for 2 hours and somebody who can check my ID.” The simplicity of my words and what actually needed to be done must have struck the paperwork dragon. But it immediately became clear to me that more citizens had faced this practiced bureaucrat before me and that thus my words were only making her stronger.

“You need authorization of Foreign Affairs,” triumphed the pen pusher.

? was the expression on my face. Blankness. This is not what I had been told by the traineeship office. My incapability to speak was like music to her ears (ironically as I still had not uttered a word in response). Confusion amongst an opponent is the highest a bureaucrat can achieve as it confirms their knowingness. She marveled in that moment of supremacy.

I gathered my wits. Authorization? What is she talking about? I am applying for a traineeship within the Dutch government. In theory, this embassy falls under the responsibility and authorization of the Dutch government. Surely an arrangement had been made. Swiftly I glanced at my watch. 13.31. “Good,” I notioned to myself, “the traineeship office in Woerden is still open. I will call them and sort this out now.”

Meanwhile, the bureaucrat was still contently observing my thinking ways without really looking at me. In a brush of optimism I delivered the quite reasonable. “Do you mind if I call the traineeship coordinator, she can inform you and me all about authorization.”

Success! This was not what the old dinosaur had expected! Clearly annoyed about my suggestion she repelled at once. “Maar dat kan echt niet hoor.” Which in Dutch means as much as: “but this is truly impossible. She was out of sorts and I have to admit that it felt good. Strengthened by her panic I asked the perfectly palpable question: “Why not?”

“Well, we close at 13.30 and what can I do…you know…I need to have lunch. I need to eat (Ik moet ook eten hoor).”

With this statement any chance of a swift resolve died a hungry death. Over the last couple of weeks I have been back to the embassy four times trying to force this exam to happen, I will keep you all updated on my Quijotian struggle.