espere tu turno, gracias.

I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories from other auxiliares in other parts of Spain about the process of applying for and obtaining a NIE, or numero de identificacion para extranjeros. Basically, it’s like a social security number for foreigners. My own appointment for my NIE was scheduled for a Thursday in my 2^nd full week in Ciudad Real. A woman who works with the auxiliars in my province sent me an email asking if I’d like to join a group of other auxiliars whom she’d be helping with the process on that day. All I had to do in advance was fill out my application form (which was in Spanish). She suggested that I have one of the teachers at my school help me with it.

So it was that I found myself in the teachers’ lounge a couple of days before my appointment, looking for someone to help me with the application. I had just been introduced to Emilio, a retired profe in the school’s English department, who happened to be onsite that day. Apparently Emilio stops by every once in a while to visit and chat with the other English profes, even though he no longer works there. With his British mannerisms and his Mr. Rogers countenance, I figured he was just the right person to ask to help me with the task. I was right. He gladly accepted my request, and slowly walked me through each field on the form, making sure I understood exactly what I needed to enter in order to complete it correctly. After we’d finished, he asked me where my Thursday appointment was. I gave him the name of the location that I thought I had to go to, but I wasn’t sure I was remembering it exactly correctly. Emilio was sure I was mistaken. I thought harder. No, I was sure that was the place. I went to the computer and printed out the email I’d received, and showed him the address and building name. Emilio remained unconvinced. He seemed certain that the lady coordinating the meeting didn’t know what she was talking about. I was certain that I had only asked Emilio to help me with the application, so I wasn’t exactly keen on him ‘helping’ me figure out where I already knew I needed to go two days later. But this gray-haired gentleman had already accepted his charge, and would not be swayed. Before I knew it, he had gallantly snatched up my completed application, and was signaling me to follow him. I tried resisting – politely, but firmly. ‘No, I think I’ll just wait to go with the others on Thursday. Maybe that will be best.’ Emilio scoffed. This shit was going down, and it was going down now. 

Dismayed, but hopeful, I quickly asked my knight in cable knit cardigan what I should bring with me. He advised me to bring all the documentation and identification I had. Before I could quickly gather my folder that contained everything, Emilio was already heading out of the lounge. I followed, clutching my folder to my chest, still not sure how his helping me with my application had turned into this impromptu, unsolicited expedition.

Despite his advanced years, Emilio moved swiftly. I had worn the wrong shoes today, and found it a little difficult to keep up with his long, loping strides. We made our way out of the school, down the block and across the street to a different foreign registration office. Emilio strode in, stopping briefly to ask the security guard which doorway we needed to pass through. The guard motioned to the left, but also seemed to indicate that the waiting area – where other people with appointments were seated – was on the right. I was pretty sure that our expedition would be a bust since we had no appointment whatsoever. Emilio glanced towards the closed office doors, but ended up heading toward the waiting area. We copped a couple of chairs, and waited – me, nervously wondering if Emilio was being just a little too cavalier; Emilio, tapping his foot somewhat impatiently. We waited for a couple of minutes, and when someone from the office on the other side of the hall stuck their head into the waiting area, Emilio pounced. He sprang up from his chair, and crossed the large room in two quick strides, his index finger held up in an authoritative attention-getting gesture. I sat quietly, my eyes slightly bugged, waiting for what would come next. In a few moments, Emilio peeked his head back into the waiting room. He motioned for me to join him. I tried to ignore the stares of the other extranjeros who were patiently waiting their turn. I’m sure they were thinking, “Who the hell are these two? Why do they get to jump the line?” Ok, maybe they weren’t thinking that, but I knew that’s what I would be thinking if I were them.

On the other side of the hallway, Emilio motioned for me to have a seat at a desk where a middle-aged official-looking woman was seated. She started asking me for my paperwork, and entering my details into a computer. Emilio sat next to me calmly watching the process, chiming in to help me out if there was something the woman asked that I didn’t quite understand. Once the lady had finished her questions and tip-tapping into the computer, she ripped off one of the pages of the triplicate form, and then told Emilio that I needed to go to a nearby bank to pay the application fee, then come back to finalize the process. Emilio seemed slightly exasperated at the inefficiency of that procedure, but he rose and exited, and again, I found myself scurrying to catch up to him.

Outside, Emilio paused for a moment to explain the bank-paying step to me in English. He said I should go there now and get it out of the way. I explained that I had only brought my folder, not my wallet, and would have to go back over to the school first before heading to the bank. He glanced at his watch, seemed to calculate that that would take too much time, then waved away the idea altogether. “That’s ok,” he said. “We can go now,” Then he set off again. I cursed myself for at least the third time in the last 30 minutes for picking these shoes today. I did a halfway decent job of keeping pace with Emilio as we made our way to the bank. We entered, then waited for the clerk to finish with one other customer. Then Emilio approached and stated our business. The clerk seemed annoyed. Apparently, they only handled this type of transaction during certain hours. We were well outside of that timeframe. Emilio didn’t bat an eyelash. The clerk started processing the transaction. Emilio casually tossed down the 10 euro payment on the desk like he was throwing down his gauntlet. I was glad the clerk had chosen not to deny him.

Emilio. Waits for no one.

Once the transaction was finished, we walked back to the foreign registration office and showed the office-lady the receipt. She loudly applied an official stamp, and de repente, I had my NIE. It had taken less than an hour. I thanked the office-lady, and we left. When we were outside of the building once again, Emilio made me repeat to him what I needed to do next. I repeated the instructions the office-lady had given me. I needed to call the police office and request a cita previa to apply for my tarjeta de residencia. On the day of my appointment, I needed to bring specific paperwork and forms of ID, etc., etc.

Emilio seemed satisfied with my answer. He mentioned that since it was a little past lunchtime, he needed to head home now. I thanked him profusely for his help that day, explaining that I couldn’t believe how quick and easy the process had been. I headed back to school, still a little bit bewildered by the whole incident, while my hero turned in the other direction and strode off into the sunset. Well, not really, it was still only afternoon.