Yesterday we went to Girona to renew our residency cards so we can stay in Spain for another two years. In general, all of our interactions with the officers at the police station where we submit the paperwork and get our fingerprints have been positive, friendly, and efficient.
Except yesterday we had a little trouble with my son's application.
The following is a translation and very loosely adapted dramatization of the conversation between my wife and the officer about my son's stolen residency card (which was stolen at a Zara Home in Barcelona--watch out!) after we presented my son's paperwork.
Officer: Do you have the current residency card for your son?
My Wife: It was stolen in Barcelona. Here is the police report.
Officer: Why didn't you tell me it was stolen?
My Wife: What do you mean? We are telling you now it was stolen.
Officer: Why didn't you tell me before it was stolen?
My Wife: You mean 30 seconds ago when we handed you the application?
Officer: Well, I don't know about this. This is not good.
My Wife: Okay.
Officer: You should have told me before it was stolen.
My Wife: Before when? We sat down and gave you the application for my son one minute ago.
Officer: [Looking angrily at the police report]: This just says your card was stolen.
My Wife: [Pointing]: My card was stolen too but it also says my son's card was stolen here.
Officer: Oh, why didn't you tell me the police report said your son's card was stolen?
My Wife: That's why I gave you the police report. Because it says my son's card was stolen.
Officer: Okay, fine, yes I see here. Everything's fine. Ha ha. Come back in 35 days.
My Wife: Thank you.
[After we left the police station]
Me: What the hell was that?
My Wife: I don't know. I'm confused.
Me: Me too. Time for snack!