Waiting games

Having spent the better part of the past three years in or around Finland, I’ve come to take locals at their word. So when a Finnish police website tells me that walk-in applicants for passports or IDs will likely spend several hours waiting at the station, I believe them. And I plan accordingly, by which I mean that I packed an overnight bag complete with breakfast, snacks, a laptop, notebook, two books, a language learning course, hand sanitizer, a cell phone charger, $300 cash and a passport.

“Where are you going again?” Valtteri asked as I switched out the SIM card in my phone.

“The police station,” I answered.

He narrowed his eyes. “For what?”

It was a good question, considering that I was exhibiting the latent behaviors of a fugitive. But, in reality, my situation was quite the opposite. I needed a government-issued ID in order to pre-pay my business taxes. I wasn’t a criminal so much as someone desperately trying to avoid becoming one.

“I have business there,” I said, pulling on a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. “And you’re coming with me.”

“OK,” he agreed. “Whatever you need.”

I looked him up and down and nodded. “Yeah, you might come in handy,” I said.

I meant as a translator, but I could tell that he was thinking hostage. I didn’t correct him. It makes for a better story that way.

It was 8:15 a.m. on Monday morning when I plowed through the doors of the police station, carryon luggage in tow. I greeted the officer at the front desk with an enthusiastic “HUOMENNA!”—which is very close to the word for good morning (huomenta) but actually means tomorrow. This, by the way, is why I brought a translator.

Before I could say anything else, the officer pointed to the next room. I turned to Valtteri, a glint in my eye. “You ready?” I asked.

“For what?” he asked.

“Exactly!” I said. “Once we go through this door, you better be ready for anything.”

I took a deep breath as though I was accessing a portal to hell. On the other side, I expected to find a bustling police station all gray and taupe and covered in spent bubble gum and mystery fluids—a place you wouldn’t want to spend ten minutes let alone two hours. Even though it was early in the day, I figured it would be full, like an airport gate 20 minutes before boarding, everyone angling to get to the front of the line even though every person had a number.

In reality, it was just a basic waiting room, and not even a particularly unpleasant one at that. It had high ceilings and natural light and moderately comfortable social-distance seating. It appeared less like a police station and more like the DMV, but only if the DMV was run by human beings capable of acting like human beings and also treating other people like human beings.

“Look at this,” I complained to Valtteri, as I settled into a leather seat, not the slightest bit sticky or ripped. “This isn’t a police station. This is a waiting room!” I shook my head in disbelief and disappointment. “This is false advertising!” I glared at the couple in front of me, both of whom looked like they had stumbled out of a casting call at a modeling agency. They were sitting side by side in matching denim jackets and designer sneakers, their phones notably silent, just waiting for their number to be called. “In America,” I whispered to Valtteri, “They’d be making out.“ I nodded at my own observation. “It would be disgusting.”

I pulled out my writer’s notebook and sighed. “I came for a story,” I continued.

“I thought you came for an ID,” he answered.

“Well that too!” I agreed. “That too.”

I scanned the dozen or so people already in the room, all minding their own business and being quiet about it too. They were looking at their phones or reading the newspaper or talking to one another voices never rising above a whisper.

I sighed again. “We’re definitely not going to catch a perp walk here.”

Valtteri did a double take, “A what?” he asked.

That he didn’t understand the term further dashed my hopes.

About ten minutes into our wait, things really picked up, this in the form of an elderly woman with poor cell phone reception. Technically, she wasn’t using the speaker function, but rather had the volume set to the maximum level. Still, it was disruptive, and this was what I was hoping for—an insignificant nit to pick in the middle of a global pandemic and financial downturn.

“Well this could be something,” I said to Valtteri, who was scrolling Twitter and hadn’t managed to make eye contact with a single person since we arrived.

He looked up from his phone and directly at the woman in question. Then he turned to me and said, “What could?”

Now I was losing my patience. “Her,” I hissed. “She’s talking on the phone. Loudly. In sunglasses.”

Valtteri shrugged while I craned to hear.

“I wonder what her deal is,” I mused, not able to pick out more than a word or two with my limited Finnish.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked.

“Yes!” I answered. “A million times yes!”

“She’s calling a taxi,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. As far as cell phone conversations go, that one held little promise. Still, compared to the rest of the room, she was the best hope I had.

“Well where’s she going?” I asked.

Valtteri and I had barely waited 20 minutes when my number was called. We walked to the counter where an agent in his late 20s served me in perfect English while chatting with Valtteri in equally perfect Finnish. He was clean and plainly dressed sitting at a neat and orderly desk. It was a far cry from the last time I renewed my driver’s license in the U.S. and the man behind the counter was drawing a UFO with a rolling ruler.

Here in Finland there was no such detail to delight in. I scanned the space high and low and the best thing I could turn up was what appeared to be a set of baseball-style trading cards for Finnish police horses. Not bad—but you can’t make a story out of that.

Meanwhile, the agent took my passport and residence card, punched a few things into the computer and then handed me a form, pre-populated with my personal information and a digital photo. I tried by best to find a mistake, anything to make a stink about, but I could not. It was all there, all the details plus the picture I had taken a few days prior at a shop in the Metro station. My ID, I was told, would arrive by certified mail in 5-8 working days.

With that, the man stood up to make a copy while I checked the time. Approximately 30 minutes had passed since Valtteri and I entered the door. Not only did I not get a story, but I hadn’t even tapped into my activities. In fact, the service was so fast, that I didn’t even have to buy a new Metro ticket for the return trip—the original was still valid.

“Well that was quick,” I said.

Now it was Valtteri who rolled his eyes. “You packed an entire bag of snacks,” he taunted. “You thought about brining a sleeping bag!”

“And so what if I did?” I countered, digging through my bag for a liter of water and pulling out a first aid kit with it. “You never know what it’s going to be like. You never know!”

Always be prepared. That’s the walk-in’s motto.

12 comments to “Waiting games”
  1. In the common wisdom, “nothing bad ever happens to a writer, it’s all Material.” You may be in trouble in Finland, material-wise.

    • oh man, you are so right!! might have to go back to italy get to get some material… and wine. they go hand in hand, really.

    • yes, agree! i do appreciate the efficiency… and i am already dreading adjusting to a system that is decidedly less so. thanks for reading.. and here’s for hoping for more material in the future… preferably without the police.

  2. You were wise, if overloaded, it could have gone the other way, and then Nova would be writing about the six hours in a cramped, cruddy waiting room with two coughers and a crying baby, no food, no restrooms…Hope for the best, my dad used to say, and prepare for the worst.

    • exactly! i actually think that when you look comfortable in a waiting room, that’s when the receptionist moves you along. the person asking for updates and ETAs get put last out of spite… the person who brings a yoga mat and starts stretching? she will be seen RIGHT.A.WAY.

  3. Love the way you made a highly entertaining story out of a pretty boring trip that went totally smoothly. Made me laugh.

    • ugh – it was truly SO BORING. so much potential and then just NOTHING. am i thankful it went smoothly? yes. but do i need some new material? also yes. something to work on.

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