It’s been so many years since either Tim or I stopped using PayPal that I can’t even tell you why. I think it had something to do with a password or wanting to change bank accounts, or a combination of things. The reason doesn’t matter, but the fact that we and PayPal parted ways has come back to haunt us.
When the friendly agent at Timely Solutions for Expats assured us he could part the Sea of Red Tape like Moses and all we’d need to do was throw money his way, we were all in. When he told us the only way to pay him was through PayPal, Tim committed to doing whatever it took to re-connect our dormant account. When he figured out how to get into his old account, they would only accept money from a bank account we’d closed many years ago when we switched to a credit union. They would not allow him to add our current account. He decided to call the 800 telephone number to try and speak with a human, but the 800 number would only take calls from a land line. (A what?!) Eventually, Tim, the hero of this story, did an end run around the PayPal folks by creating a new email address and setting up a new PayPal account tied to our credit union funds. Well, that was easy! There was just a small hiccup when PayPal rejected the phone number of the Timely Solutions agent as suitable to receive a confirmation that payment had been sent, so Tim just used his own cell number and the payment went through. While we awaited the Timely Solutions magic to happen, it was time to open a Portuguese bank account.
And we entered another rabbit hole. The bank staff was friendly, spoke fluent English, and was most eager to assist us in opening an account. There was just one teensy-weensy little thing they would require in order to accommodate our request. We would have to visit a local governmental office (whose name remains a mystery to us still) to obtain official verification that we actually reside in the region.
We went to the nameless government office and gave the clerk the paper from the bank, stating in Portuguese the exact form they required. The clerk who spoke better English than my Portuguese (but not a lot better), asked for my passport and visa. As always, we came armed with a pouch of every document we’ve ever had, so I handed the requested ones to her. She began to fill out a form that included the names and birth places of my mother and my father! What this has to do with validating where we live is beyond understanding. After confirming that we were married (never mind the multiple forms of marriage licenses I had in the pouch – she just needed to see our wedding rings), she determined that we’d only need one document because we are a family living in the same household. She gave me the form she’d filled out, and I foolishly assumed we’d accomplished the task of obtaining the necessary document. Nope.
She showed me a place on the back where we needed to collect the signatures of two Portuguese citizens who live in the Setubal voting district and would confirm that the information I’d provided on the front of the form was true and accurate. (How are virtual strangers supposed to know my parents’ names and birth places?) After gathering the required signatures, I must return the form to her. This was beginning to feel like a quest for a gem from the crown of a Fairy King.
As we left the Unnamed Government Office (UGO), Tim and I discussed who we would ask to sign our paper. It was a short discussion because we know exactly four people who meet the requirements. We stopped by the pastry shop on our block and asked Sophie behind the counter if she would sign for us. She did. Then we went to the shoe shop owned by Paula, who will become our landlady in April, and whom we just met that morning. The shop was closed for lunch from 1:30 until 3:00. It was 2:30, so we decided to sit in the park across the street until Paula returned. By 3:20, there was still no sign of her, so we put our quest on hold until the next day. The following morning, I texted her and asked if Tim could bring a form by her store to ask her to sign it. We planned for Tim to call me as soon as he had her John Hancock, and we’d meet up at the UGO.
When he called me, he said he and Paula (and her husband, Jorge) would meet me at the office in 10 minutes. Naturally, I was curious why Tim was bringing a posse for the simple act of dropping off a form, but he said he’d fill me in later. At last, our small mob entered the UGO building and approached the desk of the clerk who had helped us. She looked understandably confused as to why these crazy Americans were bringing a parade to her desk, but Paula jumped in and explained her presence. It turns out that our signers were required to fill in their voter ID number on the form (to verify they were legal residents of Setubal). Paula hadn’t voted in over 10 years and had no idea what her voter ID number was. She didn’t want to bollix our form by signing it, so she’d thoughtfully recruited a back-up signer to accompany her. (Jorge) The clerk said the voter ID wasn’t really needed, Paula signed, and I eagerly extended my hand to accept the coveted document. Hold the phone!
The clerk explained that she would submit the form and we could return on Tuesday afternoon to pick up the document which the bank required to open an account. Oh! Right! That’s what started this whole thing! We still don’t have a local bank account, but I’m guardedly optimistic we’ll have one someday.
I have been catching up on your blog… You have to be determined to go through all that red tape! It does seem you’re making progress. Good luck!!
Great story! You should write a book. I look forward to reading these entries. Your writing style makes me feel like I’m right there with you. It also reads like a screenplay. Maybe a movie in your future?? 😁
Thanks for your kind words, Becky. I think I write like I speak, and since I don’t have to use punctuation in speech, my skills are pretty rusty. I fluctuate between sprinkling commas liberally throughout the text, as taught by my 20th century English teachers, and hardly using any commas at all, as is the modern style. If I were ever to write a book, I could keep a tribe of editors busy on spelling and commas alone. If you keep reading, I’ll keep writing.