steveblog

In the last few days before school started, my fellow teachers and I had to run through a number of hoops in order to sign our contacts and become bonafide employees of the Comunidad de Madrid. Overall, this hasn't been the most painful process, but it was a very odd and sometimes a very frustrating one. For future generations (and my own amusement), I've detailed the process below. This story technically begins many months ago when I began the visa process, but for the sake of time, I'll begin just two weeks ago.

After months of waiting and wondering -- when will we start? How should we prepare? Is this job even real? -- we had finally been invited to an orientation presented by the head of our program. We arrived eagerly and full of hope that our confusion would end.

This was not to be.

Our presentation began with the news that our NIE numbers (which are basically our resident identification numbers) had been ready and waiting for us for about two weeks and apparently someone forgot to send them to us. This was kind of a big deal because many of us had been waiting to open bank accounts until we received that number. This was not the greatest inconvenience, but it really would have been helpful to be able to take care of our bank situation early, especially since our free time was quickly diminishing.

Next, we discovered that Jessica had somehow been mistaken for a teacher and was in the same program as the rest of us. Jessica went from having no job whatsoever, to being a part-time English assistant (a job that only required a college degree of any sort) to being a full time teacher of actual academic content (a job that had presumably requires a teaching degree). I have all the faith in the world that she's going to do great, but the universe sure does work in mysterious ways, doesn't it?

I left the orientation only feeling mildly less confused than before, but at least the end appeared within sight. We had been informed that our next step was to show up the following morning at our district office and sign our contacts. Of course, in order to get paid we would need a bank account (which we didn't have, thanks to the previously mentioned kerfuffle) so had to scramble in the morning to open an account and then get to the district office before they closed and the surprisingly-but-not-suprisingly-because-it's-Spain hour of 2 pm. 

Luckily, Jessica had made friends with a wonderful Chinese speaking lady at the bank, so that process was relatively painless. We got our account info and hopped on the metro. Since Jessica and I are working in the south of Madrid, we had about an hour+ train ride to get to our district office. Not a big deal, except as we were about to arrive, we got a text from our friend Ali:

"They're upset that I don't have a social security number. Have you heard anything about that?"

Hmm, not a great sign, but it was likely just a misunderstanding. No one said anything about a social security number. But sure enough once we arrived we were greeted with the same message. Our program coordinator had told us to ask for a man named Bob (pseudonym, of course) and so we went on the hunt for this man, who would surely set things right.

After going upstairs, downstairs, and then back upstairs again, we finally found Bob . I understood next to none of his Spanish but I did perk up when  I heard  him say "es no problema." Wonderful! It's no problem! What I soon found out however, is that Bob said (explicitly or implicitly, I don't know) that  it wasn't his problem. So Bob, who I imagine is the type of guy who hands out unpeeled carrots at Halloween, left us high and dry.

After a few attempts at negotiating, pleading, and committing outright bribery, we accepted defeat -- we simply could not sign our contract without our social security number -- and began our long trip home. As if to rub a little salt in our wounds, while we were on the metro, the program coordinator sent out an email saying "don't forget to obtain your social security number before signing your contracts." Thanks. Only a liiiiittle late.

The next morning, we went about the business of getting our increasingly precious social security numbers. Luckily, this was a fairly painless process, since someone from the school district met with us and walked us through the process. In a little less than an hour, we had our social security numbers and were on our way back to sign our contracts. This time, the signing our contracts was straightforward and relatively quick. The people behind the counter, who, only one day previous, had been my worst enemy, were now friendly as can be. It's crazy the difference that one piece of paper makes.

Now for a little self-reflection. Despite the fact that this whole ordeal was frustrating and seemed like a big waste of time, I had to keep in mind that I am incredibly lucky. To begin with, no one at the school office spoke English, and had I been alone, I would have been entirely overwhelmed. Luckily, Jessica and Ali spoke enough Spanish between them to at least create a basic back-and-forth flow of information. So, bless you Jessica, bless you Ali; you were the bulwark between me and a complete nervous breakdown.

Secondly, in terms of going through an immigration process, I have an incredible amount of support from the Spanish side of things. Even if the process was disorganized, there was always a next step, or someone who was there to provide assistance. At all times I knew that someone somewhere was there waiting for me with the appropriate paperwork.

Now contrast that with almost anyone else going through an immigration process in a country where they do not speak the native language, who does not have the same level of support or knowledge of what is required of them. It is really nothing short of a miracle that anyone gets through it at all. I personally will never fully understand what they go through, but this process gave me a small glimpse into that world.

I got through it, I'm officially an employee of Madrid, and I didn't die in the process. I gained valuable insight into the immigration process and an enlarged understanding of the struggles of communicating with someone who doesn't speak your language. It really is incredible to consider the power of language, or more importantly, the loss of power you can feel when no one can understand you. It will be something I keep at the forefront of my mind as I work with Spanish students who are trying to learn English, or whenever I teach a student who speaks English as a foreign language. While I had been aware of these issues in an academic sense before this, there really is no substitute for a first hand experience.

So, thank you to the Communidad de Madrid (yes, even you, Bob), for allowing me this experience. After all is said and done, I think it's an important first step to what I'm sure will be an amazing year, and a wonderful reminder that I am not only here to teach, but also to learn.