We weren't at home when Correo Argentino came to deliver a package on Friday, so I had to go collect it from the international post office. They like beaurocracy here. I've noticed that most things you do involve an unneccesary number of people. Buying a book, for example, always means someone to put it in a bag for you, and someone else to take your money. I knew this, but I didn't really know it until now.

When I got to the post office I had to take a numbered ticket and wait for about 20 minutes to get to the front desk (fortunately in the meantime I figured out that I was meant to fill out some details on the card they had left, and with the help of the nice man next to me, I figured out what those details actually were).

When I got to the desk, they gave me another ticket with a different (much bigger) number on it, and I had to go into a different room and wait for that number to be called. When I got there, there were about 40 people there, looking as if they'd been waiting all their lives in that room. After half an hour I began to wish I'd brought a book, like the guy next to me had. But I couldn't have read a book, because every time they read out a number over the PA system I had to strain to bring all of my synapses to bear on the task of decoding the crackly, extremely rapid spanish number, to see if it was mine. After an hour A started sending me text messages to find out where the hell I was (which I couldn't reply to because I was concentrating so hard on figuring out numbers).

After an hour and a half, they finally said a number that sounded like "blahblahblahblahblah y ocho". Seeing as 'ocho' is 'eight' and my number ended in an 8, I showed my ticket to the book guy next to me, and he nodded that it was my number. So then I had to go through the turnstile and go into another room, where I gave my ticket to a man who told me to go to booth 4.

I went to booth 4, where another man said something that sounded like "blahblahblahblahblah comida?". Comida means 'food', and I couldn't figure out why he was talking about food. Had I misheard him, and he was really asking me to put my hands on my head and face the wall? Was he asking me what was in the package that I hadn't received yet? How would I know what was in it? But yes, he wanted to know if it was food. In response to my puzzled look, he produced the package and opened it in front of me. And we agreed with many 'si's that yes, it was food - my sister had sent me a food parcel of NZ goodies, things I couldn't dream of finding here. He pointed to the exit and I thought it was finally over.

But no, I had to then see the lady at the exit, where I had to sign something for some reason.

At last I got home, and A inhaled one of the Whitaker's Peanut Slabs practically before I'd shut the door behind me.