#71: How To Say @ In Italian
Ciao Nonni,
I hope all is well this week.
We've been living in our current apartment for around 10 months now. So approaching one year. Plenty of time to have sorted out all the multitudes of administrative tasks that come along with moving house in Italy, right?
Wrong.
While we have successfully navigated reconnecting our internet service, setting up electricity and gas, changing our residency with the comune, and even organising our five separate bins for our various recycling and rubbish collection - one service has eluded me.
Water.
My god. The water bill. It is still going to the previous tenants, at which point they forward it to us and we pay it. They are exceptionally patient and understanding, but I think even they are growing tired of the situation now.
Water is administered by a draconian institution in Lucca known as GEAL. I have come to fear and loathe it even more than the dreaded health service office. At least with the health service, you can show up to an office, take a number, wait an inordinate amount of time, and then plead (and sometimes shout) your case to the people who work there.
GEAL appears to have taken a leaf out of the Australian bureaucratic playbook, and have removed almost all options for any face to face contact. Everything is supposed to be done online, or via video conference.
In principle I can see the benefit to them in doing this, except that their website is horrible (and often down for "maintenance") and when you book an appointment for the video call, no link is ever provided.
I have emailed with no reply, and I have filled out multiple forms requesting a transfer which have not been accepted.
The other morning, after receiving yet another bill via the previous occupants, I decided that enough was enough. I checked their website, which didn't load. So I huffed out the door with my Bureaucracy Folder (a giant plastic envelope full of copies of every document I could ever possibly need to show anyone, ever) and made my way to the GEAL office.
Upon arrival, I was met with a locked front door, and an intercom. I buzzed, expecting to be let in.
Not so fast. A woman answered and asked me to confirm that I had an appointment.
I do not. I said. Your website is broken so I could not make one.
My Italian, being terrible and with what I'm sure is a hideous Australian accent, was hard for her to understand over the intercom. Eventually she comprehended what I wanted. So then she asked for my email, so that she could send me a link TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT SO THAT SHE COULD THEN LET ME INSIDE.
At this point I was almost laughing with the sheer absurdity of the situation. I tried to argue, but she was resolute. I was not coming in.
It was only when I started spelling my email address, which is absolutely chock full of non-letters like K and J and Y (kappa, i-lungo and ipsilon), that she finally let out an exasperated sigh and said ok, fine, you can come in.
I pushed open the door, feeling like the wolf who had just actually talked their way into the pig's house, only to find a cavernously empty waiting room. All of the five counters were occupied by GEAL staff, and absolutely none of them were serving anyone. Not even on the phone. I wouldn't have been surprised to walk around behind them and find them all playing solitaire.
I explained to the woman serving me that I needed to transfer the water service from the old tenant to myself. I felt like surely this must be a bog standard request, but she seemed reluctant to do anything to help me.
She continued to ask for my email address. Finally, I managed to convince her to give me a scrap of paper so that I could write it down instead of spell it. She then emailed me (while I was standing in front of her) the form that I needed to fill out. The email requested that, once I had completed the form, that I email it back to her for processing.
The form was not actually online. I would have to go home, print it out, fill it in by hand, scan it and then send it back.
My head was in danger of exploding.
Can I please just fill it in now?
No. It must be done online.
There was no moving this lady. She held all the power and she knew it. Eventually I had to leave, with my tail between my legs, to go home and fill in the stupid form. I look forward to it being rejected for some insane reason in a few weeks' time.
The only moment of levity came (at my expense, of course) when I was trying to spell my email address. Once we'd made it past my name, we came to the @ symbol.
In English, @ is at. Of course. It makes sense. But not in Italian. The word for @ in Italian is snail. Because yes, it kind of looks like a cute little snail. But snail in Italian is one of my kryptonite words. I can never remember it. It is full of a mixture of hard and soft C sounds, and it stumps me every time.
Chiocciola.
Italians have adopted many English words into their language, as has also happened in reverse. But might I suggest that we trade one in? I would happily say fine settimana instead of weekend forevermore, if I could just please say at instead of chiocciola.
Anyway, when attempting to say @, I kept repeating the only word I could think of.
Ciotola.
I knew it wasn't quite right, but I couldn't think of anything else and I was hoping that she would take pity and help me out. Instead she just laughed and laughed. I was a grown human, standing at the counter of the water authority, shouting 'BOWL, BOWL, is it BOWL?!" on repeat, while trying to make the shape with my finger in the air. Absolute mayhem.
All my love,
Kate
