The joys of jumping through German hoops

The last post was about what is really a straightforward bureaucratic procedure - registering with the ‘Burgeramt’.  However, not all of our encounters with German bureaucracy have been as plain-sailing.

In January we went down to the Job Center in Storkower Strasse to register as job seekers.  Things got off to a bad start when a receptionist sent us to the wrong department.  The hostility of the member of staff we spoke to when we got there was so demoralising that we were beginning to wonder what crime we had committed.  It took us two months to gather sufficient strength of will to try again.  When we did eventually make our way to the department that we should have been directed to in the first place, we were helped by a lovely lady who had minimal English but, with our minimal German, a passable conversation took place and we managed to get Alan’s name onto the system (I had to register at the Agentur in Charlottenburg because of my professional qualifications).  We then had to take away paperwork to be completed and returned by a certain date so we could be issued with a social security number each and given appointments for interviews.    

My interview was quite painless; the member of staff I spoke to was very helpful and spoke good English so it wasn’t as terrifying as I had feared.  She told me that I needed to have my qualifications to hand before anyone would employ me (I had left them all in England, not realising that they would be valid in Germany) and that I ought to have a qualification in TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language), which I subsequently set about acquiring. 

Alan’s interview was very different and was conducted entirely in German.  He was told that there were plenty of jobs in his field but that without a competent knowledge of the language he could forget it.  She gave him the contact details for a ‘sprachschule’ in Charlottenburg which ran an ‘integration’ course, part of which involved teaching German to the level accepted by employers.  The whole interview lasted no more than ten minutes.

What followed was an epic wild goose chase.  Alan e-mailed the ‘sprachschule’ and received a reply asking him to go down for an initial assessment.  Once there he was asked to pay 900 Euros to register for the course.  A very helpful man said that he should be able to acquire a ‘social ticket’ which meant that, even though he was not claiming benefits, his lack of an income would enable him to have the course fees waived and would also afford him subsidised travel.  This would have been welcome as, with the course running daily for six months, transport costs would take a significant bite out of our budget.  He was told to mention the ‘social ticket’ at the Job Center so they could issue him with the relevant paperwork.  However, no one at the Job Center seemed to be aware of any such ‘ticket’.  The man at the sprachschule e-mailed Frau H who had conducted Alan’s Job Center interview and she sent him an e-mail asking him to call there the following day to sign for a form that would be waiting at the front office.  When we got there though, once again, no one had any idea what we were talking about and no form was waiting.  Our request to see Frau H was rejected.  Instead, we were ushered into a room where a truly horrible goblin of a woman basically coughed her way through telling us that they could not help before waving us away, whilst coughing like a consumptive into her scarf.  For the third time, Alan went back to Charlottenburg and this time, the helpful man wrote to the Job Center, requesting a letter from them to the Burgeramt, where the social tickets are issued.  Back again at the Job Center, we saw a very friendly employee who finally provided the letter.

We took this to the Burgeramt where the member of staff we saw insisted that, to receive a social ticket, you had to be in receipt of benefits and sent us on our way.  We were back at square one so we set off for home but, by sheer chance, we encountered a member of staff who was actually willing to help.  She accompanied us back to the Burgeramt where she went to have a word with the ‘chef’.  At last we managed to find out that, although there used to be a social ticket, it had ceased to exist in 2005.  The helpful lady explained very kindly that a Berlin pass granting subsidised travel was available but only for benefits claimants.  So, although we really were back where we started, at least now we were aware of the exact situation and would not have to waste any more time chasing a non-existent document.

Another process that proved less than straightforward was the sorting out of our health cover.  When we moved here we did some research and discovered that some sort of health insurance is mandatory in Germany.  Rather naively, I had supposed that the German national health system would be the same as that in the UK and that, as EU citizens we would automatically qualify for medical assistance should we require it.  So we went down to the offices of AOK in Schönhauser Allee to begin the process.  We were told there that we needed to acquire an S1 form from the UK which would enable us to receive medical care, the cost of which would be recovered from the UK if our National Insurance contributions had been sufficient to cover it (which they had).

We received the forms from the DWP and went back to AOK where we were issued with temporary health cards and informed that we would now be able to visit a doctor should we need to.

We were given paperwork that we had to attach photos to, sign and return.  We went down to the photo booth on Prenzlauer Allee and, for two Euros, had a strip of grim passport-type photos taken.  We put these in with the forms, corrected the spelling of our surname which AOK had managed to get wrong, and put them in the post.  The next day we were sent identical forms asking us to fill in our birth names and to supply photos.  We filled in the names but ignored the request for photos as we had sent them the day before and it was obvious that the forms had crossed in the post.  We then cycled down to drop them off in person at the AOK office.  When we got back there was another letter from AOK in our ‘briefkasten’ containing yet more of the same forms and another request for photos.  We went back to AOK the following morning, where the member of staff who dealt with ‘ausländer’ claimed not to have received the photos we’d sent.  I couldn’t see how this was possible as she did have the forms that we’d sent with them.  She also told us that as there was a problem with the spelling of our name, a problem which even production of our passports wasn’t sufficient to resolve, she would have to make some phone calls and would get back to us within two days.  She didn’t.  We waited for a week and then went back, with further sets of photos and were finally told that we could have our health cards.

We have found that, when faced with bureaucratic procedures here, the amount of help you get can often be down to whomever you happen to see on a given day.  Some officials have been inordinately helpful and have gone out of their way to help, whilst others have been as obstructive as it is humanly possible to be.  The amount of time wasted to-ing and fro-ing, and being given the wrong information seems an intrinsic part of the process – I’m just glad that we didn’t have the added bother of needing visas.

Burger - no relish

I have spent most of my time over the last few days concentrating on getting my TEFL course completed as it looks like being my most realistic chance of getting work.  I lost three days last week because of the move, so since Thursday I’ve been working pretty much flat out.  Although I’ve now completed nine of the ten units that comprise the course, I’m only 64% of the way through it.  The remaining 36% is covered by the final unit, which focuses on grammar.  There’s a lot to do, but I’m trying to get it completed by next Wednesday, as I’m flying to England for a few days then. 

On Monday, I worked until just before midday when we set off for the Bürgeramt for the second time since we moved here, to register our new address.  The Bürgeramt is part of a complex of sturdy brick-built, ivy-clad blocks, each dedicated to a particular bureaucratic function.  Wide cobbled pathways dotted with old-fashioned street lamps run between them.  But despite the ‘Victorian’ visage, there is an air of neglect – some of the buildings are in need of re-pointing, and the grounds are choked with weeds.  It makes me think of Satis House – even without the abandoned brewery, I can easily imagine the young Pip playing miserably amongst these sombre edifices.

To get there we had to walk past the old flat and I noticed, as I looked up at the balcony, that since the owner returned she has taken the patio furniture out from wherever it had been hidden.  I'd been very sad to leave that flat – it had, after all, been my first home in Berlin – but I’ve got used to the new one now and I actually prefer it.  We’re very fortunate to have our own terrace as most of the flats in the house don’t even have a balcony.  It’s leafy in the hof and surprisingly quiet considering that it’s right next to the S-Bahn tracks and trains come by every couple of minutes – in fact, the end of the platform at Prenzlauer Allee station is just a few feet away from our door.  In the front of the building there is a Russian shop/café with a lively and very friendly proprietress who gives us chocolates every time we buy something.

Back in the Bürgeramt, we took a ticket, numbered 307, from the machine and found a place on the seats that line the corridor to wait our turn (when your turn arrives, your ticket number appears on a prominently-displayed screen.  The latest ticket number on the screen was 161, so we realised that we had quite a wait ahead of us).  We were among the very last of the day's customers as they stopped issuing tickets just after we got there.  The offices close at 3.00, so it makes sense, otherwise the corridor would be clogged up with people who would have no hope of being seen. 

The waiting was reminiscent of an airport departure lounge but with no shops or bars to distract us.  I thought that maybe they could install a few retail outlets in there to give people something to do to pass the time – create a sort of Bürgeramt shopping mall.  Perhaps I should approach them with a proposal to open a Bürgeramt coffee shop.  The prospect of being able to pick up a cup of coffee or a bite to eat would help enliven a fatiguing three-hour wait, I think. 

The wait, an inherent part of an unavoidable obligation, was endured with patience and a little industry.  Some had brought work with them and sat, highlighters in hand, going over papers.  Some (myself included) had books.  Others were focused on their mobile phones – texting, playing games, or surfing the net.  Mothers wandered up and down the corridor pushing prams, trying to keep babies content.  The tinny buzz of music from half a dozen headphones added its drone to the sounds of tramping feet and the bell that announced the display of each new number on the screen.  That bell had such a melancholy timbre – bi-syllabic with a downward inflection on the second syllable.  It put an image in my mind of an old church in a forlorn village, maybe in Francoist Spain, the mournful clang of its bell reminding the cowed population of the dismal authority it represents. 

I began to mark milestones as the ticket numbers appeared on the screen.  The first one was when number 200 was reached, then 207 because that meant there were a hundred people in front of us.  I looked at the time my ticket was issued: 11.58.  At 12.58, exactly fifty people had been seen, so I calculated that it would be about a quarter to three before 307 would finally flash onto the screen and that doom-laden bell would toll for me.

It was a neutral enough environment – the walls were painted an inoffensive pale yellow with woodwork in light green; the floors a practical, hard-wearing stone.  I wondered whether much thought had been given when deciding on the colour scheme to the best way of ensuring that calm prevailed.  It was a fine day; the windows were opened, and the sound of children’s voices came drifting in from the park outside. 

As the afternoon proceeded, the numbers began to thin out.  After exactly two hours, a hundred people had been seen according to the screen.   I realised that there were only four people behind us in the queue.  By this time I was feeling restless, and started to fantasise about being outside, either in the park or sitting at a pavement café with a nice piece of apple cake in front of me.  I also wanted to get back to my work. 

Finally, at ten to three, our number appeared and we made our way along the corridor to the room number indicated alongside it, to go through what is basically a five-minute process.  When we left, the corridor was deserted and silent.  Business was over for the day.  Still, now that particular bureaucratic commitment has been addressed, we can set about tackling the rest.

Haus 6 - The Burgeramt building