Office Space....

Just so you don’t think my life here in Venezuela is all fun and games, here is a glimpse of my average day:

The scene: Inside the CAC (I don’t know what that stands for) a concrete room, with bullet proof windows that features a door in on one side of the room and a door out on the other. Think of the DMV Driver’s License Office. There is a metal detector and X-ray machine like they have at airports and about five armed security guards milling around. The guards are not at all menacing, in fact they are quite jovial and show people which line to stand in. Along one wall are five windows like they have at a 24 hour gas station, with bullet proof glass, a tray under the window and a counter on which sits a box with a glowing green glass top – the finger print scanner. I am sitting at one of the windows. The room is crowded with people waiting to be fingerprinted.

Me: Buena (Venezuelans rarely say the entire phrase “buenas dias”. Saying “buena” is like saying “morning” or “afternoon” as a greeting. See the note below on not saying the last letter of a word.)
Applicant: Buena
Me: Necesito su pasaporte y su planilla (I need your passport and your form)
(Applicant places passport and form in tray under window, but out of my reach)
Me: Por favor, empujelo por la ventana. (Please, push it through the window)
Me: (look at form, enter batch number, pull up case on computer, confirm passport number, e.g. “D1234567”, confirm date of issuance and date of expiration)
Me: Cual es su nombre completo? (What is your full name? Actually, literally it means “which is your full name” but that is how it is asked.)
Applicant: Angel
Me: Su nombre completo.
Applicant: Angel Enrique
Me: Y su apellido? (I have to ask for the last name because they still don’t understand that I want the same name that appears on the passport)
Applicant: Coromoto Rangel del Valle
Me: Y su fecha nacimiento? (and your date of birth)
Applicant: (mumbles something I can’t understand)
Me: Como? (literally means “how?” But this is how you say “what?” when you don’t understand something.)
Applicant: (deliberately slow) veintidós siete mil novecientos ochenta y cinco
(22-7-1985, they invert the month and date)
Me: (After confirming that the name and DOB are correct) Ponga su mano izquierda en el centro de la pantaella. (“put your left hand in the center of the screen” referring to the fingerprint scanner right in front of them)
Applicant: (holds up right thumb)
Me: Su mano izquierdia. Los cuatro dedo (“your left hand. The four fingers.” And, yes, it should be “cuatros dedos” but Venezuelans never say the last letter of a word, especially when it is plural. For example, I live in “Caraca”)
Applicant: (holds up the right hand, four fingers.)
Me: Su otro mano izquierda. (your other left hand)
Applicant: (holds up left thumb)
Me: Su mano izquierda. Los cuatro dedo.
Applicant: (holds up the four fingers of the left hand)
Me: Si, en la pantaella, presione fuerte. (yes, on the screen, press hard)
Me: Mas juntos, como muestra en el foto en la pared (“more together, as shown in the photo on the wall” meaning they need to put their fingers together. I should also mention that there are instructions on the wall immediately to the left of the applicant, complete with photographs of how to successfully complete the fingerprinting process. Really, this is not that hard.)
Me: Mas abajo. (“lower” meaning they don’t actually have their fingers on the screen, just the palm of their hand)
Me: Mas arriba. Como muestra en el foto. (“Higher. As shown in the photo.” Ok. I’m starting to get pissed off.)
Applicant: (gets it right)
Me: Mas fuerte. Presione mas fuerte. (Harder. Press harder) (they never press hard enough)
Me: Gracias. Y su otro mano igual. (Thanks, and your other hand the same)
Applicant: (holds up right hand)
Me: Si
Applicant: (puts right hand on the screen and gets it right, they have had some practice after all)
Me: Gracias, y los dos pulgares juntos asi (“And your two thumbs together like this” I hold up my thumbs together like a double Fonzi “Eeeehhhh”)
Applicant: (Tries to do it awkwardly with bent elbows. Fails.)
Me: Es mas facil con brazos rectos. (It is easier with straight arms)
Applicant: (Tries again awkwardly. Fails)
Me: Senora, mira, brazos rectos. (“Ma’am, look, arms straight” while gesturing with straight arms)
Applicant: (gets it right)
Me: Gracias. Vaya a la sala de espera por esa puerta. (Thanks, go to the waiting room through this door)
Applicant: (looks around)
Me: Hacia adentro (go inside)
Me: Pase un buen dia (have a nice day).


I do this on average 150 times a day. I am actually pretty slow. The other fingerprinters average about 250 per day. I am one of the more friendly fingerprinters. One guy barks one or two word orders at people like “right hand,”, “left hand,” “thumbs,” ”waiting room.” When the applicant has sweaty hands we have to try to get them to dry their hands with the paper towels provided. If that does not work we have alcohol wipes. When their hands are too dry, we have them rub their fingers on their forehead or face. I have seen missing fingers, missing hands, and hands that don’t work. Old people have no finger prints, they are worn off. I can tell if someone is a laborer by their fingerprints. Desk jockeys, like myself, have beautiful finger prints. People that work with their hands don’t. They have callused hands and fingers with no finger prints. The worst ones are the people who pushed their way to the front of the line to get into the fingerprinting area, hurried through the metal detector and rush up to the window still holding their wallet, belt, watch and various papers. These people are invariably in a huge rush and have not listened to any instructions and when they get to tothe window they are in such a rush that they don’t listen to me or read the sign with the color photos which explain the complicated process of placing one’s fingers on a finger print scanner. I do take some pleasure in telling the “rushers” to go get in line outside, gesturing to the huge line of people waiting to get into the waiting room for their interview that usually goes all the way to the parking lot. The process of obtaining a visa takes hours.

The management style at the State Department is very, shall we say, "Lumbergian." If you don't know what I am talking about, run, don't walk, run, out and rent the movie "Office Space" from your neighborhood video rental store.

Oh, well. It’s all in a day’s work.