Learning German: die Stempelgesellschaft

The largest employer in the United States (and the world, incidentally), depending on whether you include public-sector work, is either the Department of Defense or Walmart.* The largest employer in Austria, by contrast, is the City of Vienna. This size is indeed appropriate, as Vienna accounts for 1/4 of the entire population of the country, and the city provides a vast number of services that Americans could only dream of, like a dense network of free youth centers, an on-point public transit system, and a really cool new initiative that aims to bring people together to create community charters.

But it also means that you can have experiences with bureaucracy that are quite frustrating / funny, depending on your outlook. Like, for example, registering for university. Even before I arrived in Austria, I had filled out an online registration form and submitted various documents to the Fulbright Commission, who would visit the admissions office in person to submit them. And so, I thought, with all my paperwork turned in, my matriculation papers and student ID would be waiting for me when I arrived in-country.

False.

Because, you see, I had already been enrolled at the Uni Wien when I was a study abroad student two years ago. And at that time, I was issued a student ID. A "student ID" in the sense of a piece of paper with a photo taped onto it and a sticker on the inner fold stating for which semesters the ID was valid. A student ID that expired in April 2011, and that I promptly stuck in my Wien scrapbook.

A student ID that I would need once again this year. Because when a plastic ID card expires, you're issued a new one. When a paper ID expires (or rather, the sticker on the paper ID), you stick another sticker on top of it.

Ok, fine. Waste not, want not. So when I went once again to the admissions office,** I explained to the lady that I hadn't been enrolled for two years and needed to be issued a new ID. The answer: "So einfach geht's nicht" (It's not as simple as that). And no, it was not.

In order for the Referat Studienzulassung to issue me a new ID, I needed to present them with a Verlustbestätigung, a form from the government stating that my ID had been "lost." So I traipsed over to the Magistratisches Bezirksamt and explained to the man behind the counter what I needed. He was actually very friendly/helpful for a Beamte: when I explained that my student ID was in America, he said, "Ok, we'll say that you lost it on April 10." We even laughed about the fact that he couldn't find me in the system, because he had misread my passport and typed in my last name with two 'n's instead of one. (Story of my life.)

He also informed me that there was a two Euro fee associated with a Verlustbestätigung. I reached for my Geldbörsel (wallet), at which point he told me, "No, you have to pay at the Kassa." This signaled the start of the most futile paper-pushing experience of my life: (1) The Beamte gave me a bill. (2) I walked, bill in hand, down the hall and around the corner to the cashier's office. (3) I handed the bill to the cashier, along with my money. (4) The cashier took my money and the bill, and gave me two copies of a confirmation that I had paid the relevant sum. (5) I walked back to the first office and handed the Beamte the payment confirmation, keeping the other copy for myself. (6) The Beamte handed me the Verlustbestätigung.

Now, on Monday, I finally get to get a student ID. I still can't register for classes, though, because I haven't paid my 17,50 Euro contribution to the student union, which I need to do to get access to the university's online system. (Interestingly, if I were an EU citizen, this would be the only thing I would have to pay this semester to study.) This fee can only be paid with a bank transfer, and I won't have a bank account until Monday. Because although Erste Bank's online information tells you to stop by anytime to open an account, when you actually arrive at the bank, they tell you to make an appointment for another day.

With each successfully completed step, though, I'm gaining confidence in my ability to solve things for myself. Like many recent college grads, I was a bit nervous as to whether I would be able to handle "The Real World." But moving to Austria after graduation, I realize, was like signing up for The Real World: Intensive Version. If I can successfully navigate an entirely different bureaucratic system, with additional steps built in due to my Ausländer-status (like getting a new bank account, applying for a residency permit, etc), in a foreign language, I can pretty much handle everything the real world throws at me.

* This is now my go-to statistic on why I hate America.

** It still feels funny to me that the English translation of "Referat Studienzulassung" is admissions office. From my experience at Harvard, I had always thought of the admissions office as a scary, otherworldly place, to which you submitted documentation of your entire life's oeuvre (which you were, of course, supposed to have at age 17) so that a secret brotherhood could decide your fate using a shadowy process lost to the sands of time. In Austria, though, everyone who attends the right kind of secondary school has the right to study (and there are even alternative ways to university for people who decide to attend university later in life). So the "admissions office" is really more like the registrar--processing your documents, making sure you're enrolled in the correct program, etc.