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I set off for Kalamata—56 kilometers distant—at 7 a.m. to beat the heat and be the first one in line at the power company office. It is a lovely ride over the mountains, on serpentine roads with hairpin turns (and few guard rails), traveling past the gypsy camps outside of the city, with long views of the 7500+ foot Taygetos mountains (still snow covered) across the Messenia Gulf.
In the past month, I have been so
fortunate (I thought, rather brazenly, actually clever) in dealing with the layers of Greek bureacracy.
Today I met my match in dealing with the lady the bulletproof hairdo and the
truly awful attitude.
The object of my visit was to
apply for a hook-up to the power grid. Like everything else in Greece, this involves
jumping through fiery hoops, bribing, cajoling, and sweet-talking. The grid is
in lieu of photo-voltaic, which is subject to theft in my absence and also,
perhaps, is more expensive in the long run, because batteries don’t last as
long in the extreme heat and would need to be sheltered outside, for safety's sake (the house is too small).
I brought every imaginable
document—except the one that she required for the application, the αδεια οικονομη=building permit. Because
I bought an old wreck of a building, which was an illegal structure, then paid
the back fines to make it legal, the standard building permit doesn’t apply.
Instead, all of the legal issues are referenced in the 22-page contract from 2013, which I brought with me.
But no, this was not good enough.
This homely bureaucrat pushed all of my buttons and I kept smiling. Then she
grabbed the document file out of hands and began rifling through it. Tucked into
the last page was a menu from the local gyro shop.
She threw (literally) the book at
me and said, “Now on top of everything else you’re making me hungry!”
“Ma’am, I just drove 56 miles to
complete this permit, and you’re telling me you’re hungry. At 8 o’clock? I’m
ready to pay the electric company several thousand dollars for four electric
poles? And you’re worrying about eating?”
She glared at me. She offered an
unkind comment about foreigners and told me I was making her life difficult.
Difficult, I thought? I
fantasized a head lock followed by a face plant into her overflowing ashtray. I
took a deep breath and thanked her for her time and let her know that I would
be back. Tomorrow.
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On the way through Methoni I
stopped at my lawyer/notary’s office and explained what had transpired. He called
the mihanikos (engineer who signs off
on all construction/renovations) and put the call on speaker phone.
“The woman is an idiot,” the lawyer
said. “She is a donkey,” the engineer replied.
In short order they prepared a
new document, with the court’s imprimateur (which I know I’ve misspelled),
stating that my house was indeed “legal” and that electrical hook-up is
applicable.
“Bring the documents tomorrow. If
she gives you a hard time again, call me. If she doesn’t like it, she can eat
the documents along with her morning gyro.”
So tomorrow I will set off yet
again, in my final days, to contend with the never-changing, insufferable Greek
bureaucracy.
Victory is ours!
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