After our positive, uneventful experience at the Tobacco Factory yesterday, I decided to run out quick this afternoon to get a tax identification number so we can get a bank account. So, while Chantelle and Sy napped, I loaded up the girls in the stroller and walked to the Ministry of Finance building a few blocks from our apartment.
When we arrived, I realized right away it wasn't going to be quite as easy as the residency permits, as it wasn't obvious where we should go and there was no one around to ask who spoke English (this was a very vulnerable feeling...there's another blog coming on this at some point). Twenty-five minutes later, they finally tracked someone down there who knew enough English to tell me I was in the wrong place and needed to go to another building "not too far away."
I figured as long as we were out, let's go. So we started walking. And we walked, and we walked, and we walked. After twenty minutes, I stopped someone to ask directions and was told it was just a bit further. So we walked and walked and walked some more. Finally, we came to the huge building on the outskirts of town, walked all the way around it to find the right door...and learned that the office had closed at 1:00.
So, we turned around to head home, and Rosetta informed me she needed to go potty now. It then dawned on me that I had forgotten to put a diaper on Celia before we left. Great. We stopped at a small cafe, the three of us went in, and Rosetta went potty. I asked Celia if she needed to go. "No." "Are you sure?" "No." "Should we try anyhow?" "No." "Okay." I turned around to grab my backpack. "DADDY, I GO TINKLE IN MY PANTS!!!!!!"
Yes, the floodgates had opened. So, there I stood, a thirty-minute walk from home with a soaking-wet kid and the prospect of having to head all the way out here again on Monday. As the saying goes, some days you're the dog, some days you're the tree.
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