The Knox factor
Every so often when I get in over my head in Italy, I try not to do anything too crazy out of fear that I will end up like Amanda Knox, the American student who during her academic experience abroad was imprisoned for years and was later found innocent in the death of one of her roommates. She did do a couple of weird things after she was accused, including making out with a friend at the lingerie store Intimissimi and doing a cartwheel at the police station. These are both things that I wouldn't do, but that I am afraid I would do under stress. When I lived in New York the fear was that I would get naked and scream obscenities on a table at Barnes & Nobles. I wouldn't really do that, but I do make other unusual life choices. Like "adopting" six refugees and their babies and taking responsibility for things completely outside my control and, often, as a result, getting myself in trouble.
So one of the papers we need today might possibly have been technically expired. I knew I couldn't change that document because it would be a serious crime. So I didn't change it. I swear I didn't. But it might possibly have gotten just a little speck of spit on it. A little. By accident. And now it is a little hard to read one of the numbers. It's not like I did a cartwheel after learning about someone's death. Anyway, T did an amazing job translating and fighting with the bald guy at the police station in Pistoia. The man said that as far as they are concerned, his original request for protection is still in effect due to a time lag in bureaucracy; and so, technically Emmanuel still has the right to work. Emmanuel had left his document on a train, and when he declared it lost officially a month or so ago, he could not remember his address. The bald guy did not like seeing that under the space for address it says non si ricorda/this dope doesn't remember so he sent F and T back to the local police precinct to get it stamped. He did not even notice the spit. But we have to go back on Thursday.
|T as a lawyer in training|
Because I was trapped at work, I explained the situation to all of my classes. My second to the last class of the day was given the translation assignment of writing my English letter to the chef, explaining our predicament, into perfect Italian and then emailing it to me. Ain't I a stinker?
We are still not out of the woods, but for now we are all free and relatively legal. Ish.