Attracting new followers

No, I am not trying to start a new religion, but I am trying to increase my number of followers by 33%. How will I accomplish such a feat, you ask? As it turns out, I have had some interesting experiences in my life, and by telling them, I can bribe people to follow my blog.


I was not aware of this, but I guess people sometimes get emails that say something to the effect, "I am stuck in London's Heathrow airport and could really use your help." Then you have to wire them money so they do not have to live through that horrible Tom Hanks' movie. Where was his accent supposed to be from anyway? My friend told me this last night, and fortunately for me he did not ask for me to send him money because I did not understand that he was really in sunny California. I am upset that this scam is out there because I was once stranded in a foreign country. I fear that if I ever find myself in a similar situation, I will be told to pass the time by playing a game of hide and go *&@# myself! Actually, I played a very similar game in Italy, in that there was a lot of running and *&@#ing involved.

Rome. The eternal city. Beautiful.  I reached a point in college where was trying to expand my horizons and try new things. I talked about doing things that I always wanted to do, but never followed through with them, and I wanted that to change. Spending a couple weeks by myself in Italy seemed like the perfect opportunity.  I found some ridiculously cheap airfare in February and went for it. The trip was for the most part amazing. I met lots of great people for all over and saw amazing art and architecture. I am thinking of turning it into a screenplay called Beneath the Roman Sky. Diane Lane will obviously play me. Then, I got to see the real Italy, or at least the Italy that confirms the stereotypes.

I flying back to Denver on Sunday, and on Saturday morning I found out that my passport was missing. You just cannot trust those damned Italians! While I was convinced that I had put my passport in the safe at the hostel, it turns out I had been carrying it on my not so safe person. At least I was not the only one to have something stolen. I found some comfort in knowing there was so much theft on public transportation that they conveniently located the police office in the Metro station. I walked in to find no fewer than 6 police officers sitting around. I had always wondered if the stories about Italian civil servants were true. Luckily, I was able to confirm that they do not feel pressured to assist you if they are already engaged in doing nothing. For twenty minutes. I figured that they must just be very thorough individuals, and that they would devote the same painstaking attention to the recovery of my lost passport as they did in ensuring that the quality materials used in their chairs could support their weight for extended periods of time. Unfortunately, I was mistaken. They simply handed me the police report and made me fill it out. I guess the chairs warranted further testing.

As you can see, I provided valuable insight as to what happened. When asked about the circumstances surrounding the incident I wrote, "I do not remember." Yet, they still wanted to know where the theft took place and at what time. We decided that it was stolen on the Metro at noon on February 13th, 2004. Perhaps my passport was lost in the negative space on the police report! It is not like I was expecting them to do anything, but I wanted the report signed off on in a timely manner so I could take it to the embassy and get a replacement passport. The report says it was signed at 12:35 pm. Time was of the essence, because the embassy closes early on Saturday, and they are not open on Sunday.

Part of me was excited to go to the embassy. I pictured it as this huge, white marble building that reflected the prestige of our great nation. Unfortunately, the passport office is in a trailer in what seemed like an old parking lot. To get through to the trailer you have to pass through a security building staffed by Italian police. Who only speak Italian. At the American Embassy. Where Americans go for help. Speaking English. When I got inside the embassy/parking lot, they informed me that a new passport was going to cost 72.25 Euro, that they only accepted cash, and that they were closing at 4pm. It was already 2:30pm. This would not have been a problem if I had 72.25 Euro, but I only had about 20 Euro left. I swear this isn't a scam!

The time difference between Denver and Rome is a painful 8 hours. My salvation was most likely still curled up in bed, sleeping at 6:30 am on this particular Saturday morning. I proceeded to call every number I had in my phone for the next hour, leaving messages saying, "I am stuck in the American Embassy in Rome. I need your help. Please wire me money." Maybe I could have increased my response rate if I had said something about not wanting to steal their identity. The futility of calling my sleepy friends and family was causing some tension in me. There were no more numbers to call. There was nothing I could do except start looking for a job in a laundry that wasn't too particular about immigration status. Instead, I decided to take some passport photos just in case someone called me back. Being a classy parking lot, there was a carnival style photo booth located outside the passport trailer. The expression on the photos can best be described as my silent disaster face. Regardless, I was not in a beauty pageant, and it was one less thing to worry about. Finally, at about 3:30 pm my mom called me back!!! Oh, sweet, sweet salvation! I told her to wire the money post haste. The nice lady at the embassy, who could see I was on the verge of a mental breakdown told her where to send the money, and she gave me a map showing how to get there to pick it up. She also warned me that they were closing in less than a half hour, so I had better hurry. Thanks. She could have just told me to play hide and go *&@# myself because this is where all the running and *&@#ing comes in.

The Western Union (pink x) was about 5 blocks from the embassy (#1), and it was almost 3:40pm. I took the map and sprinted down the street, and the fashionable Romans eating al fresco must have thought they had witnessed a new land speed record. I must have dropped something on the floor at the Western Union because that is where I was bent over. The receipt clearly states on the bottom left that I was to receive $85 or 72.25 Euro. I know this is the exchange because that is how much the passport cost. Yet, the Western Union employee, seeing that I was in a hurry decided not to weigh me down with the full burden of 72.25 Euro and gave me 62.23 Euro, instead. Now, I know what you are thinking. The Western Union takes a percentage of the transfer as a fee. This is true, but that is why my mother wired enough so it would be $85 after the fees. She just lacked the foresight to account for the I'm a corrupt Italian fee.

The receipt at the Western Union is stamped 3:50pm. Uh oh! Something told me that the embassy was closing on time today, so I sprinted back, breaking my own land speed record.

I got back to the embassy and everything was set. I already had my pictures, and they had been preparing the passport while I had gone to the Western Union. I paid the lady and got the passport at 4:05pm. It turns out, they were very accommodating, and I owe them a debt of gratitude for treating me so well when I was so upset. I canceled my interview at the laundry and got ready to go home.

When I arrived in Denver, they immediately locked me up in the little white room. I guess they thought I had a fake passport and was trying to enter the country illegally. I am guessing the angry expression on my passport photo did not help my case. They asked me a series of questions to find out if I was really American. When I told them I liked to go snowboarding, they were convinced I was telling the truth. It is probably for the best that I did not ask them to wire me the money. In the end, the trip was a success. I was pushed way outside my comfort zone, and I think I am better for the experience. If nothing else, Dustin has agreed to follow my blog, and that is a win in my book!