I nearly gave an Italian apoplexy today...

...or how to become a "locals'" attraction...

I'd like to become enrolled in the healthcare system here.  Although we have private major medical coverage, it occurred to me that comprehensive care might also be a good idea -- if not strictly necessary.

Having gone to discuss it with the bureaucrats, it was determined that I must have a job.  Not a black market job (the norm here).  A job where I pay TAXES! The trick? It doesn't matter for how long I hold said job.  Or how much I'm paid. Or for how many hours.  I just have to be employed.  Legally.

Yesterday was my day to investigate the local labor market ("What local labor market?" you ask? Good question). I meandered off to the employment office (100 meters away from the house) and enjoyed watching the helpful job counselor tell me that in the entire state of Perugia (one of two or three divisions of Umbria), there are 38 officially posted positions.  None of which are in Todi.  All of which require physical presence. Most of which require fluent Italian.

He helpfully included me in the rolls of people seeking employment, and said that this documentation alone might (might!) be enough to get me into the health system.  I then asked about self-employment.  In the States, it's actually relatively straightforward, but I had the sneaking suspicion that this would not be the case here.  Suspicion confirmed.  Apparently, it's so complicated that you need to hire a "Studio" to take care of it for you (think of a CPA, maybe?).

Upon asking how to find a Studio, he shrugged & said they're all over the place.  After having explained in (non-fluent) Italian that I wouldn't recognize a Studio if it bit me on the nose, he finally came forth with a few names.  One of them is in the Piazza Jacopone...I suppose that's convenient enough.

After the pausa, I walked the 10 meters to the Studio building.  Of course, the offices were on the top floor.  So (pant) after I (pant) had made it up (pant) the many flights of stairs (pant), I had to explain to the receptionist (pant) what I needed (pant).  She looked amused at my delivery, but I'm sure I'm not the only one to be a wee bit out of breath upon arrival...

Giorgio arrived in due course.  A lovely, tall, broad man with a mustache -- he beckoned me through several half doors, squeezing through after me.  His wife (whom I'd met over coffee last week) saw me, and told Giorgio that I'm the one who owns the adorable Fiat 500 he's been admiring through his window.  Giorgio & I hit it off immediately after that.

And here came the laughing fit that I was afraid would kill the poor man: Once I had sat down, I explained as delicately as I could my work situation and the fact that I'm looking for health coverage.  I told him that I'd had several job offers, but they were all under the table.  For me, the money was much less important than that I pay taxes.  Therefore, I'd considered starting my own consultancy simply in order to be able to start contributing to the tax rolls.

As he listened, his eyes widened.  Eventually, practically with tears rolling down his cheeks from the strain, he couldn't contain himself any longer.  With an enormous guffaw, he said that it was the first time in his 40-year career that anyone had EVER told him that they wanted to pay taxes.  After that, any time a colleague entered his office (and it was like he had a revolving door), he made said colleague sit down & hear the story of  questa signora  who actually came to his office asking how to pay taxes.... I was starting to feel like the equivalent of a tourist attraction -- or maybe the subject of a freak show?

Managing to taper off to a snicker or two, and the occasional twitch of the lips, he explained the (rather complicated) process for starting a new business.  I will probably be filing the paperwork in the next few days...as soon as I can steel myself up for the twinkle in his eyes and the surreptitious snort.

Love,

Alexandra