Latest installment in the continuing saga

... of my Turkish driver's license: Today I finally had the time to go over, early in the morning, to the police station in Üsküdar, a neighborhood on the Asian side. I toddled over there with all my documents in hand, including my original Johns Hopkins diploma (carefully bubble-wrapped from when Mom was angelic enough to send it over). I was accompanied by cousin Gökhan, who is always willing to help out, bless him. The place opened for business at 9:00, and we were in the room for driver's licenses at 9:05. And it only took an hour and 40 minutes to get our business done. Sheesh. The process involved such highlights as:

• A plexiglas barrier between us and our bureaucrat which had but a few holes and a slide-through slot for communication; said bureaucrat found it amusing to speak very quietly, forcing us to bend over to the slot and shout "Excuse me? Excuse me?" every time he murmured something.
• A guy who strode into the waiting area and brusquely ordered us to get our butts over to the counter on the other side of the room, where, to our bewildered surprise, we were supposed to fill out more forms and pay 191 YTL for the privilege of being there.
• Unannounced Requirement #1: A photocopy of not one, not two, but four pages of my residence permit. There being no photocopiers in the building (!), we had to run outside to the copy counter strategically placed across the street. (In the store that sells equipment for cops, like pistol grips and vests that say "POLIS".)
• Unannounced Requirement #2: Some number I was apparently given as a temporary ID when I took the written driver's license exam. Huh?! Since I had neither a clue as to that number, nor as to the phone number of the driving school so I could ask them, I had to call Meltem and ask her to re-find their number on the Internet and text-message it to me so I could call them... (whew)
• Barry's Sole Moment of Amusement: Just when I was thinking "These guys are never gonna ask to see my original university diploma," the cop asked to see it. I hoisted the thing out of its big IKEA bag and held it up to the window. Turkish diplomas are the size of a sheet of typing paper, so the guy had never seen a great big whacking thing like mine, and his expression of surprise was kind of funny.
  

Anyway, after all the fun, I got a slip of paper with a confirmation number on it. Next Thursday I am supposed to go back to the station and present the number, and then they'll just hand me the actual license itself and say "Have a nice day." You can bet I'll blog THAT.