He took a sip from his coffee and grimaced. Damn, that was terrible. And it had gotten cold, to boot. He set the mug back down on the legal pad to his right, placing it just a few centimeters beside the stain from yesterday’s brew. The once-yellow legal pad was almost completely brown with coffee stains, but the desk beneath looked even worse.

It never ceased to amaze him how many souls managed to get damned in just one day. His pen made a quiet scratching noise as he filled in the name, soul number, and transgression in the appropriate lines. Joe Smith, 644351807876724355, drug dealer. Aaron Bordoni, 948714994554876190, adulterer. Michele Bachmann, 902326232648400786, politician. He paused, cocked his head to the side as he gnawed on his pen, then added a note to the last entry: special treatment for furthering our cause on earth.

Ukobach, from the 1818 Dictionnaire Infernal, by de Plancy

But that was before the invention of the printing press, much less the internet. Once there was a mechanism to disseminate ideas more efficiently on earth, Management realized that they would need to upgrade the system for processing souls. Ukobach’s boiler room was transformed into an office full of demons just like him, and the blood of the damned became the ink in all the fine print they used to damn even more souls. In essence, it was nothing new, just a different name for the same thing.

As he worked, Ukobach reached over to his coffee mug and picked it up, absently heating the drink with his fiery tail. The mountains of paper never combusted around him, despite his inner core temperature of 450°C; this was partly because of the odd physics of hell, but mostly due to the frigid air conditioning unit that had been installed directly above his station. The down side of this arrangement was that his coffee was always cold before it even touched his lips. He sipped again and nearly spit it back out. Damn, but that’s awful.

Back in the days before bureaucracy and hell had become synonymous, Ukobach would take long breaks to go drink the clear, fresh water in the pool where thirsty Tantalus stood. One day he’d found a goldfish there, and he had placed it in a bowl to bring back to work…but the fish was almost instantly boiled alive when he took the shortcut over the lava fields.

He missed that goldfish. It would have brightened up this cubicle a bit.

A fly circled slowly around the cubicle, coming to rest on the edge of Ukobach’s coffee mug. “Don’t drink that stuff,” he warned. “It’s not good for your health.”

The fly buzzed angrily, and Ukobach shrugged. He knew that he had taken too many breaks already, but he also knew that if Belzebuth were truly displeased, he would have come himself, instead of sending one of his flies to pass on the message. “You know,” he said, lifting his mug to get a better look at the fly, “this why our side keeps losing. We are so mired in our own processes that we can’t think creatively. So many people think that heaven has all these rules and regulations, but we’ve got just as many, don’t we? Maybe more.”

He stood up, mug still in hand. The fly looked at him warily, but did not move.

“I want to go back to cooking,” he announced to the fly.

The fly buzzed, but it was so cold in the cubicle that it had a hard time moving off the mug.

“I can tell you right now that Charlie Sheen’s tiger blood will make a fantastic sauce for my next recipe,” he continued.

The fly buzzed again, trying to get away, but falling instead into the muddy brown liquid in the cup.

“What’s that? I’m sorry, I can’t chat with you; I have to get back to work!” Ukobach raised his mug in mock salute to Management, and the frosty air from the vent froze the coffee solid, trapping the fly within.

Ukobach tilted the mug to look at the icy concoction. He sighed, placed the mug back on the legal pad, and picked up another pile of papers.

Maybe when I get home tonight, he thought, I’ll make some fried ice cream. Coffee flavored.

I have to say, for a country that used to be communist, I expected a whole lot more red tape and hassle than I had to go through to get my visa. Granted, when I showed up to the consulate (15 minutes before the office opened, and I was 3rd in line), I had all my paperwork in order, but they seemed to have a much more organized processing system than the U.S. passport folks.

Now I have to wait for my application to get processed (”It’ll get done when it gets done,” the lady at the window said), which hopefully won’t take more than a week or so. Still, I’m on pins and needles until I get my visa in my grubby little hands. In the meantime, though, I’ve managed to do some shopping for comfortable walking shoes and lightweight clothes. Apparently, it gets pretty hot in Umbria in the summer!

When I got the certificate, I changed all the usual things; I called up my credit cards to change them, I waited at the social security office for hours on end, and surprisingly, the DMV took the least amount of time and effort.

The only thing I had left to change was my passport, and since I figured I wasn’t leaving the country any time soon, I decided to mail my passport in, along with documentation of my name change, to the State Department for regular processing (10 weeks).

Of course, a week after I had mailed it all in, I got an offer to go to Italy. Go figure. So now that my passport is in the bowels of the State Department, it’s up to me to dive into its putrid maw and fish it out.

I went on the passport website, which says in no uncertain terms that they are very busy, so don’t bother calling the number they’ve provided, because you won’t get through. The best way to get in touch with them if you have a question, they say, is by email…but don’t be surprised if they don’t respond to your email for two days.

So first I emailed them, and, true to their word, they responded 2 days later, telling me that my best bet is to go in person to a passport agency. But oh, by the way, you can’t just walk in, you have to have an appointment, and they won’t give you an appointment unless you’re traveling within 2 weeks.

Oh yeah, and in order for you to get that appointment, you need to call that number that we’ve been warning you not to call because you won’t get through.

So I called the dreaded phone number, which is answered by a message full of dire warnings not to even bother hoping to speak with anyone, because everyone at the passport office is so overloaded, they can’t be bothered with your problems. After their 5-minute dissertation, they present you with the following options:

1. Check on the status of your passport (which then refers you to the website, which in turn refers you back to the phone number of doom).
2. Schedule an appointment; choosing this option takes you to an automated scheduling system. One would think that this would be the easiest option, since it doesn’t involve human interaction at all. However, this system clearly doesn’t have enough phone lines piping into it, since out of the almost 30 times I called, I only got through once. The other 29 times, I got a message saying that the scheduling system was overloaded with calls, and that I should please try again later. Then the automated system hung up on me.
3. Contact customer service with a question. You mean, like, “How come your automated scheduling system doesn’t have the time of day to talk to me? Is anyone really working there? Why don’t you invest in more phone lines?” As one might expect, I could never get through to a real person. After choosing this option, another message plays, reminding me of how busy they are over there, and to expect long wait times. I hunker down for a long wait time on hold, and the damn system hangs up on me. Again.

I went to gethuman.com, my favorite resource for situations like this, so I could find a way to talk to a real person. I followed the directions, pressed the requisite numbers, and got the exact same customer service message I would have gotten if I had gone the regular route. And it hung up on me again.

Finally, at 11:47 PM, I finally got through to the automated scheduling system. I scheduled my appointment, listened to more warnings that they would not be able to see me unless I was leaving or needed a visa within 2 weeks, and got my confirmation number.

Just to make sure, I visited the web page devoted to the Philadelphia passport agency (there are only 8 of these across the country; thank goodness I didn’t have to travel 1,000 miles to go to one of these places). The web page said to make sure you arrive 15 minutes early for your appointment, and if you are more than 15 minutes late, you would have to go through the whole rigmarole again to get another appointment.

So I arrived not 15 minutes early, but 30 minutes early for my 9:30 appointment this morning. As I got to the building, I noticed that there was a long line of people queuing outside. I was informed that this was the line for passports.

“But I have an appointment,” I protested. Oh no, the security guard told me, they don’t work with the appointment system in Philadelphia. It’s first come, first served, and people usually start lining up at 8:30 in the morning.

So I got in line and just tried to stay thankful that it was a beautiful day to be standing outside. It certainly could have been worse.

Once inside and past the metal detector (which by the way, picked up my wedding ring set…not even airport metal detectors are that sensitive), I was directed to a line where they determined whether or not you needed a passport within 2 weeks. I passed the test (I told them I needed enough time for the Italian work visa to process), and I was given a number.

An hour and a half after I had arrived at the State Building, I left, my mission accomplished. No, I don’t have my passport in hand–not yet, anyway–but it will be express mailed to me, and I should have it in plenty of time.

Of course, once I get my passport, I still have to apply for a visa from the Italian Consulate. I’m sure that will be a barrel of fun.