Appalling Incompetence!

In an effort to locate where our 'Change of Country' document was in the endless maze of government bureaus, I  called the 800 number for immigration.  Cora did the same thing a few weeks ago.  Let me first just say, that while I believe everything my lovely wife says, I still was under the mistaken impression that perhaps she was exaggerating when she wrote that post.  (If you don't know what I am talking about, have a look here at her frustration.)  I could not have been more wrong.  She was understating the exasperation!

I calmly dialed the number three times because the first two times it asked me to type in the receipt number.  It turns out the receipt number I have is not capable of being typed in on a touch tone phone...even though it says you can.  YOU CAN'T!!  So, the third time, I slog through the menus, press one for English, press nine for another menu so we can needlessly annoy you before you talk to our federal employees, you know the drill.  I finally got a human.

I stated my problem, three times.  Then she said, it will help me if you answer these questions.  The last one stated exactly what I had told her my problem was.  Of course.  That imaginary pressure gage in my head was rapidly shooting toward the danger area!  So, I repeated my problem.  Then she said it would be three months for our change of country to be approved...then she made to hang up as if she had not just crushed our hopes of adoption in one fell swoop.  I stopped her and said, "Wait a second..."

Finally, I asked is there a way to expedite the handling of our document?  "Yes," she said.  I said, "Well, sign me up!"  I then had to listen to her repeat a long list of qualifications needed to be able to apply for the expedited handling.  It took me about 30 minutes on the phone with this...person.  By the end, I looked like this:

when I SHOULD have been going to my happy place, that looks a little like this:  

Sadly, I could not attain a quiet place, and for the next 20 minutes I brooded over the incompetence of certain government employees, the rotten luck and poor judgement we seem to be prone to in this adoption.  I imagined the facility where this...person...works as a giant underground lair for some super-secret Alien Entity that sucks brains and screws with people's adoptions.  

I pondered how horrible the experience can sometimes be.  Then I thought about this:

and all of a sudden it doesn't matter as much.  Yeah, I still wanted to reach through the phone and slap someone, but I didn't want to do it out of spite.  It would be for their own good.