Santa Pazienza

The waiting room is over-flowing. A large dog is whining in a corner, my cat is miaowing and 2 other cats are cowering in their transporters. The door opens, a man with a large dog tries to get in but realises he and his dog won't fit. He resigns himself to waiting outside. Though before closing the door asks "who's last?" A woman points at me.

"No, I've got an appointment." I glance at my watch, it is already ten minutes past the time of the appointment. This draws a couple of strange looks, the vets here don't do appointments. My cat needs to see one of the myriad consultants of the practice.

The door opens again, and a man pulling a suitcase enters the room and knocks on one of the two doors which lead to the practice. He is ushered in. Time ticks by. More people arrive. Some are ushered in. A woman arrives, her cat has an operation scheduled. A man with shoulder length curly hair and wearing Bermuda shorts strides in as if he owns the place, and maybe he does, he enters the inner sanctum. Finally, the doctor with whom I had an appointment half an hour earlier arrives, muttering something about traffic along the way.

"Santa Pazienza," I think. How much longer? I fix my gaze on the posters warning pet owners of the hazards of not testing their four-legged ones for a variety of nasty and not-so-nasty ailments. Beware mosquitoes! Beware ticks! More people pop their heads in the door. The appointment after mine has arrived with a large dog straining at the leash. "What is this? Just cats today," he mutters resigned to a wait outside where the weather is changing as dark clouds scuttle in with the promise of showers.

Ten minutes later, I get access though not without an elderly woman lap dog on lap trying to cut in front of me. The consulting vet glares at me, "are you sure it's your turn."
 "I have an appointment," I mumble, "for quarter to ten," I add more forcefully. The woman is one of the many who have turned up without an appointment. She complains loudly. She has been there since the surgery opened. I arrived after her. She protests at the unfairness of it. This is just an everyday scene from my local vets' practice.

'Santa Pazienza' I think again, not yet knowing that this is the beginning of a very long morning which would try my patience to the limit. Let's say angry vets and skitty scared cats don't make for a good combination.

Patience is needed in all big cities. throughout the world.  But maybe more so, in Italian cities and towns: bureaucracy with its attendant queues in various government offices and institutions throughout the city, long lines in banks and post offices, queues backed up aisles in supermarkets where of the ten very efficient looking tills only two are open, and hours spent waiting for buses that are stuck in traffic are among the most obvious culprits. The bigger the city the more patience you will need. 

I remember the confusion the first time I tried to cash a cheque, getting paid directly on my account wasn't an option yet. I entered the bank after having been twice rejected by the security doors. I divested myself of all metal possible, put it in the locker provided and was allowed in. In those days employees could smoke at work. They were smoking. A cloud hung over the work stations. There seemed to be no obvious line. Just people waiting, chatting, filling in forms and complaining. As soon as a till freed up someone strode forwards to claim their turn. How did they know it was their turn? Elderly people seemed to claim priority: "I'm old. It's my turn." And they would nimbly rush up to do a half hour long transaction. I waited a long time and when I managed to get to the cashier it was to discover that I needed another document. I couldn't cash my cheque without it. I would have to return the next day.

Things have improved: banks and post offices have discoverd single file queues and ticketing systems. The advent of the internet and its increased use, while slower than in northern Europe, has also helped to reduce queues by allowing more and more basic transactions to be done online even though often on less-than-user-friendly websites as if making a process simple to accomplish were inconceivable.

Queues have been described as one of the twin plagues of modern day Italy (the second being mass unemployment). However, should anyone wish to avoid queues at government offices where one can wait hours to do the most basic of bureaucratic taskes they can always pay for the services of a professional queuer. For 10 euros an hour a professional queuer will stand in line.

Alas, professional queuers cannot be used everywhere. Buses and their lack of any semblance of an efficient timetable, especially in Rome with its bankrupt public transport and ineffective mayor (the joke goes that when she took office she googled: how to run Rome?) are sore points.

For the umpteenth time I stare down at the bus company app., called muoversiaroma (moving in Rome), a misnomer if ever there was one. The screen indicates 'no bus', there is nowhere to sit and the sun is beating down hard. There is no shade. I shake my head at the elderly woman with the walking stick who has asked me if I can give her an idea of when the bus will appear. I shrug.

"Santa Pazienza!" she mutters. Give me patience!