Showing posts with label queues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label queues. Show all posts

Friday, December 11, 2020

Post early for Christmas

The queue outside the post office in Elche was pretty orderly, maybe 20 or 25 people. Not exactly military in its straightness but orderly enough with at least a long metre between individuals. The habitual Spanish queuing technique involves finding out who was the last person to arrive before you so you can follow that person when it's your turn. For months now the number of people permitted into shops and offices has been limited so that people have to wait outside. Although the "who's last" queuing system is still alive and well the atypical line type queue has now become commonplace. Lines are easier to join. 

British Post Offices have always been little outposts of Government as well as a place to post a parcel or letter. That's not the same in Spain and, even before social media, email and the rest made a lot of surface mail redundant many Spaniards hardly ever used post offices or postal services. There is very little tradition of Spanish junk mail by post or greeting cards for instance. That said Christmas is a busier time than usual for Spanish post offices and there has probably been an increase in business because of the proposed restrictions on Christmas gatherings. Lots of things that would normally be hand delivered will almost certainly go by post or carrier this year. 

Most in the Elche queue stoically accepted the situation, took their place and only looked up from their mobile phones when they sensed movement in front of them. Except for the bloke who I presumed was last in line. He was standing in the gutter. His mask was keeping his neck warm. I had to ask if he was the queue. 

The queue outside the post office in Pinoso has, for days, been long and slow. I have heard stories of people waiting hours. That was one of the reasons I'd taken my packet to Elche with me when I had other things to do there. I guessed that a city post office, a bigger office with more staff, would be faster. The same strategy had worked well for buying stamps in Murcia the week before. Nonetheless I'd taken a book for the queue. My reading was interrupted by the bloke I'd already spoken to. He wanted me to keep his place in the line as he had a little errand to do. When he came back he started nattering to me again. He told me that Covid was a scam. He told me there was a cure. In fact he could sell me the cure for only 20€ per dose. He proved how effective the medicine was by showing me an interesting video of someone pouring liquid from a glass into sawn down plastic water bottle. He gave me his card. I kept my comments to the minimum and hoped for a faster turnover of customers at the post office counters. I wondered if I attract people like him or if it's just that I remember the mad ones more than the ones who comment on the weather. Either way I was overjoyed with the rapidity with which the postal workers in the Passeig de la Joventut cleared the queue and separated me from the snake oil seller.

If any of you wonder what I was doing in Murcia, crossing the uncrossable border, the answer is that I'd left my home region only to drive a pal, who is currently unable to drive and has limited Spanish, to a hospital appointment. Justification enough.

Friday, August 21, 2020

These things are sent to try us: two

If you need to go to a bank in Spain think about it taking a good part of your morning. You may be lucky. Correct desk. Person not at breakfast. No wait. No complications. I'm sure it will happen one day but even when it's been a relatively problem free run it has seldom taken me less than twenty to thirty minutes. It doesn't matter where it is, as soon as there's a physical or virtual queue it's going to take time.

Obviously the Post Office falls into this category. Yesterday I had a package to post. I went to the Post Office. Because the number of people who can be inside the office is limited the queue was in the street. I stayed for a while but after 20 minutes nobody had gone in and nobody had come out. My mask was getting tacky; I gave up. I popped back twice more in the next two hours. The queue was going nowhere. The main man in our post office isn't the sort of person to get flustered. He doesn't hurry. I thought I may be able to sidestep the queue and went to get the price from a private carrier but 20€ to send a 1 kilo packet seemed a bit steep. 

I went back to the Post office before 9am this morning when I reckoned there wouldn't be much of a queue. I was right; there was just one person in front of me. I was in and out in about 25 minutes.

Actually whilst I was there I got one of the DGT (Transport Directorate) stickers for Maggie's car. There are four stickers related to emissions - one for things like electric cars, another for the hybrids and then a couple more for modern and modernish diesels and petrol engined cars. The stickers come with new cars but Maggie's Ford Fiesta didn't have one. They are used in some cities as a way of identifying cars that are welcome or not welcome under certain conditions and in certain areas. You can get the stickers online but you can also get them at the Post Office and as I'd anticipated there would be no queue I'd taken the vehicle paperwork. I handed over the 5€ fee and came out with one of the C stickers as well as having left the parcel to their tender care.

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Banking on it

My bank sent me a letter, well there was a message on the website, to say that I should ensure that they held the correct details on me. Apparently this was going to help them combat money laundering. I can see that. Anyway the documentation said I was a teacher and, as I have an official looking certificate to say that I am in receipt of a Spanish State Pension, I thought it would be easy to do.

Going into a Spanish bank requires time. A lot of time and the patience of a halo wearer. I very seldom have to go to a branch but, yesterday, I did. There was the usual confusion about which desk to use - not a linguistic confusion. In this case, four desks, three of which seemed willing to deal with people and one of which seemed to be doing something on his computer which may have been high finance or he could have been playing Fornite Battle Royale. I behaved like a good Spaniard, I staked my place in the general queue for the cash desk, just in case it was there, then I asked the spare man where to queue. "Any of the desks there," he said, pointing vaguely. "No, not that line, either of those two,"  he said, "Oh, no, sorry, just with the woman". I bantered with the other customers about how useful it would be to have a desk that said Information or maybe a sign that said this desk for blahdy blah and that for whatchamacallit.

I got to the front of the queue. "Easy peasy," said the woman, "Do you have any proof that you're a pensioner?" I produced the certificate and she beamed. No problem for her about it being a British pension. No problem because I had no proof. Those Chechen money launderers should get one. She started to tap tap tap on her computer. The tapping got harder. "¡No va!," she said. It doesn't go, it's not working. She complained about computers and I sympathised. She tried time after time. I looked over my shoulder and wondered about the queuing time for the people furthest from the desk. "Do you have any errands to do?," she asked. "I can ring you when it comes back on".

So I did the supermarket shop and I drank two cups of coffee and read a chapter of Viaje al corazón de España, Journey to the heart of Spain. Well over an hour, closer to 90 minutes. I went back to the bank. "No", she said, "I told you I'd ring." She phoned about ten minutes later. For some reason the database didn't want to just change teacher to pensioner it also wanted my ID number, my phone number, my inside leg measurement and my preference in chocolate biscuits. The address proved tricky. Despite copying out the address that was on the letter they'd sent, the address they held for me, the computer repeatedly said no. I noticed the mistake this morning, some twenty hours after it would have been useful. The woman knows how to spell and wrote Caserío but the database didn't and wanted Caserio. Do you see the difference? It happens a lot. Spanish programs use accents -á,é,í, ó,ú, ü and ñ - but US and UK type programs don't. She got round it by basically inventing an address. Then I signed two or three documents and, after only a little over two and a half hours my documentation was up to date and my money laundering days were over.

There was going to be something much more important and much more terrifying later in the day but I'm not going to share that on the blog!

Friday, December 13, 2019

Queuing for Peter Pan

We have a couple of very active theatre groups in Pinoso. One of them, Taules, was even the joint winner of a prestigious national award for amateur theatre this year. Taules usually put on a show for the August fiesta and another for Christmas.

For some events in Pinoso you can buy tickets online but for most of the events in our 400 plus seat theatre you have to get tickets, or invitations, from the box office which opens for a couple hours for a couple of nights before the event. It's a bit of a pain for us because we're not usually in town in the evenings so we have to drive in specially. We've learned that normally we can chance to luck and there will be tickets available on the night. You can't do that with Taules though.

I'd misread the programme information. I thought tickets were on sale from 4pm. In fact it was 6pm. I didn't realise though because, when I got there, there were about 40 people waiting. Now the Spanish have a queuing system that I've mentioned before. They don't, usually, stand in a line but, as you arrive, you ask who is the last person in the queue and so take your place - let's call that virtual queuing. This causes confusion when foreigners, like we Britons, stand behind the person we think is the last in line. We may be queue jumping because the line usually only represents a part of the virtual queue. I asked who was last in the post office the other day and a woman sitting on a chair pointed to a Briton and said "He is, but he doesn't know, so I probably am." She may have been just a little peeved.

As I arrived outside the theatre I was assigned my place in the order. Over the next fifty minutes though the system started to creak as people came and went, children, coming from school, joined their waiting parents whilst cousins, aunts and brothers in law stood with other family members. The noise level was rowdy. I still didn't realise I was early and I was seething about the delay and unfairly cursing Spanish organisation.

When the man from the theatre group did turn up there was a loud cheer so I still didn't realise I was early; I just thought he was late. We all jostled and pushed into the theatre lobby behind him and any semblance of place in the queue vanished. Then the theatre bloke explained. Tickets would go on sale at the advertised time, 6pm, about an hour away. There were going to be separate desks for each of the three performances and they were going to set up posts and ropes to organise a physical queue. We were asked to organise ourselves so that the new physical queue had the same order as the original virtual queue. That involved leaving the theatre and finding your rightful place. I'm not good at forceful and I realised I'd end up at the back of the queue if I did as asked so I hung back a little and dropped into the reforming queue more or less where I belonged. Then we waited for the sales desks to open.

Progress to the three desks was painfully slow but I did, finally, get there. Choosing seats involved a Biro and a photocopied diagramme of the theatre. Paying involved banknotes and coins. I was surprised how many seats had gone. People must have been buying shed loads of tickets at a time because I wasn't that far back in the line. Not many people behind me were going to get in on Sunday evening so maybe all the bumping and shuffling and standing around was actually worthwhile. If I'd turned up at six I'm not sure I'd have got any tickets.

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Life in the slow lane

There aren't many self serve checkouts in Spain. They have them at Ikea, the scan your goods, push in your credit card type and they have some at Corte Inglés though I've never seen them in use. At Carrefour they used to have self serve but they changed to a single queue system - Checkout Number fourrr please.

Generally then supermarket queues are stand in line, stuff to the rubber belt, the person at the till scans your items, you put them into a bag and then you pay, maybe scanning your loyalty card in the process. You can still buy plastic bags at the checkout but most people don't.

Consum, probably the largest supermarket in Pinoso, works exactly like that. I'd gone for my usual 30-40€ worth of every second day shopping. There were four of the six tills on the go, the deputy manager was on one till, the women from the deli and fish counter were up too. All the tills in use were busy. The days of the ten items or fewer queue are long gone.

I stood in a queue. I was behind lots of baskets with a few items. Over on the next till there was one load already on the belt and a couple unloading a big trolley load onto the belt. I hesitated. The paying so often seems to take people by surprise. Scenario; I know I'm in a supermarket queue, I know I'm going to have to pay for this but when they ask I'm going to be surprised. Now where is my purse? Oh, no, I'll use plastic instead of cash. Loyalty card? Oh yes, now where is it. Oh deary me, I can't seem to find it, oh, I can use my ID number and so on. Even then they are not contrite, they don't load their bag as quickly as they can. Oh, no. They put the card away carefully, have a quick gander at the till receipt and then slowly begin the last of the packing so that you can't get to your things which are now piling up alongside theirs.

I decide to risk my luck with the trolley instead of the several baskets. A lad steps in behind me. He just has Coco Pops. I let him by. The woman with the trolley does all the stuff above, all the looking for her purse and failing to pack speedily. She also adds in tinkering on her mobile phone to open the application that holds a record of the discounts she can claim and her "monthly saver cheque." It takes her a while to find and open the app. She wants the stuff delivered and there's a bit of a conversation about a suitable time. There is also trouble at the next till. Something isn't scanning properly and the woman on my till seems keen to get involved. She abandons us a couple of times to help out in the next aisle. One of the other management staff joins in. We stand patiently in line.

It's good being a pensioner. Time to burn and with a sanguine view of life.

Friday, January 02, 2015

Valencià hasn't used boxed question marks since 1993

Going to the bank on Spain is a pain in the backside. The queues go on for ever. There aren't enough tellers whilst there are far too many bank workers shifting paper around on their desks and waiting to sell some dubious financial product. Lots are at breakfast too.

For a number of reasons, so tedious that even I would hesitate to record them, I've had to go to the bank at the beginning of each month for the past several months. Despite being in the largest bank in Spain there isn't a branch in Pinoso. I have the choice of being charged 6€ to process the payment locally or driving to nearby Monóvar, if 15 kms is near.

Queues in Spain are usually orderly but amorphous. Often the routine is that as you get to the people hanging around to be served you ask who was last there. You take your turn after them. The next person joining the queue after you asks the same question and your place in line is now secure. This system has multiple issues for non Spanish speakers.

The phrase to use is ¿Quien es el último? It's a phrase within my linguistic grasp though I'm usually lazy and simply ask ¿El último? These phrases have a semantic drawback in that Spanish has gender. The word último is masculine so there is a possible charge of sexism. To avoid this people sometimes choose to say ¿Quien es el último o la última? which adds in the feminine possibility even though she always seems to come second. It set me thinking about how difficult it must be to write a phrasebook and how such a simple question, and ones like it, have manifold forms (as they do in English.) I was nearly at the teller and ready to be quizzed about my identity even though I was paying money into my own account when a young woman came in to the bank. "L'últim?"- she asked. It's the same same question but in the local Valencià language.

Ah well, for those of you old enough to remember. Bouncy, bouncy. Drop your panties, Sir William, I cannot wait till lunchtime. My hovercraft is full of eels.