I’m shaking my head that I’m only just now able to tell you this story. But finally, at long last, here it is.

Getting Thai citizenship was easy. Becoming a Thai national is hard. I’m not sure if Thai bureaucracy is particularly opaque, or if in the U.S. it is similarly complicated. I know for U.S. citizens, you need your birth certificate, social security number, driver’s license (or other DMV issued ID), and your passport. These things will take care of 95% of your needs. Maybe 99%. Other than that, you may occasionally need something like a lease or copy of a water or electricity bill to establish residence. None of these things are particularly difficult to get if you’re born in the U.S. However, I don’t know how difficult it is for people who become U.S. citizens later in life.

But, if it is anything like Thailand, it would be nice if someone would provide you with a little checklist of what you need to do, in what order, and what you need to accomplish it.

Instead, here, you find out what you need only after someone yells at you/complains that you don’t have it. In the meantime, you discover that having citizenship alone, with a birth certificate and passport to prove it, pretty much doesn’t account for squat-diddly.

In Thailand, besides a birth certificate and passport, you also need a Thai national ID card (which I gather is pretty much like a social security card with your picture and information on it), driver’s license if you drive, house registration card, the right dress and attitude, your entire life history, your mother’s entire life history, and of course detailed official documentation to prove it. And if you are over the age of 15 and your mother is not there with you showing all her documents, pack an extra bag full of time and patience. (And possibly bribe money.)

I thought some Americans have short patience with people who don’t speak English fluently. Some Thais can be equally discriminatory, even if they know you’ve been in the country less than a day. And it turns out language courses tell you how to perfectly identify a chair, order food, and ask for directions. They don’t tell you how to negotiate matters of citizenship and proper registration, answer questions that are not straightforward, or understand the directions you’re given.

So let me tell you the story of Mr. Pig. The one thing I did know I needed to do immediately upon arrival was to go get my national ID card. It was my understanding that I should go with someone who lives in Thailand (for I would be registered in their house, like having a permanent address), show my embassy-issued birth certificate and passport, and they would give me my national ID card.

If only things were so simple. One thing I’ve learned in dealing with bureaucracy is that personality matters. You can be lucky and get someone willing to be helpful. Or you can get an A-wipe. Guess which one I got.

The day after our 30-hour flight in, my cousin took me to her local district to register me with her house. We went to the information desk and asked where we should go. The young lady behind the counter smiled prettily and sent us over to a man at a different desk. I would call him a mid-level paper pusher, except he had no papers on his desk. So I call him Mr. Pig because he was a quintessential example of the pigs from Animal Farm. He merely sat there, while issuing commands with his perfectly manicured hands to employees across the room. This man clearly hated me from the beginning. I can only surmise that he didn’t like me because (not having been informed of the proper depth of bow necessary for such an official) I did not bow quite deeply enough, and dressed in slacks, shirt, and long Anthropologie-style short-sleeved jacket, I was not appropriately attired. To an American eye, it would be fashionable for my age (and Anthropologie is not inexpensive). To a Thai man’s eye, apparently it was slovenly.

He invited us to sit down at his desk. Then he proceeded to ignore us for the next 6-7 minutes while he continued conversations and commands to his employees situated elsewhere throughout the office. When he finally turned his attention to us, we explained my situation (my cousin doing all the talking). He looked at my documents and declared them suspect and in need of further investigation. He told us to make copies of everything and come back the following morning.

We did so, at the appointed hour. He, meanwhile, showed up 20 minutes later, walking in with an entourage flanking him. We went through the same ordeal, except this time it took nearly three hours. He asked a slew of questions, most of the time never pausing to allow me to answer. My cousin answered some, but I didn’t always have the opportunity to speak for myself. Not that it mattered; he didn’t have the patience to hear half of what I did say anyway because he was too busy mocking it.

The questioning was unbelievable, and often, to my mind, totally unrelated to the matter at hand. He wanted to verify with the Embassy that the documents were real. Okay, fine. But then he wanted to know what I was going to do in Thailand. What were my qualifications? Resume? Who was my mother? What is she doing? Where is she now? Why am I registering at this address instead of a different address? Why did I wait until age 30 to come live in Thailand? Why am I so short? (Yes. I kid you not. In a land of Asian people, who are usually no Kareem Abdul Jabars, I was asked why I am so short. The short reply in my head: F— you.) Interspersed with these questions, he would shake his head and proclaim he did not think I could survive in Thailand.

He was concerned about my age because, at the age of 15, Thais are required to get their national ID card. However, at the age of 15, I was not a Thai citizen. It is only a few months ago that I got Thai citizenship. But the way he asked about my age “Why did you wait until age 30 to come to Thailand?” is such an oddly phrased question. It presumes that I should have had a desire to live in Thailand when younger. How, at 15, would I have known that I might one day want to live here? I told him I waited until I finished getting a doctorate in the U.S. as sort of a half-answer. But I felt nettled by it because I don’t know how to explain away incorrect assumptions in Thai. I can haggle with taxis and order curries, but pinpointing such nuances is a bit beyond my skill level.

Three tedious hours later, hours spent entering my information into forms and answering inane questioning, it was still not done. We had to catch a flight up to Chiang Mai and get settled there, with just a plan to return to Bangkok to finish this. What was still holding it up, you might ask? Apparently he needed official copies of all my university transcripts and official degree verifications (translated into Thai) before he will give me a temporary identification card. Yes. He apparently thought it necessary to know my college GPA. It’s like Social Security telling you that you need at least a 3.0 and a Ph.D. to officially be a citizen in the country. So I had to order my official transcripts and degree verification and wait for all the documents to arrive from the U.S. Oh, and he wanted another of my cousins to come and testify for me, to make sure I was legit, because he still clearly wasn’t sure.

Waiting didn’t sound like such a hardship – until I had to do just about anything else official here (including getting a bank account or buying vehicles) – and discover I need my national ID card to do it. And every time I was asked for it, I had to suffer through a barrage of circular questions: Where is your ID card? I’m getting it. Ok, then where is your visa? I’m a Thai citizen, I don’t need a visa. I have a Thai passport. If you’re a Thai citizen, then why don’t you have an ID card? {Groan.} And it all gets extremely tiring when your language skills are limited.

Okay, so then, at the end of December, I get my university transcripts sent from the U.S. and fly down to Bangkok to meet with Mr. Pig. My cousin makes an appointment with him a week in advance. Appointment made. She calls a day in advance to confirm the appointment. Appointment confirmed. Then an hour later, he calls back, “Oh, I have urgent business to attend to. I will not be able to meet with you that day. Oh, you have a flight to catch after? I’m sorry, I guess that means you’ll have to come back in February.”

[Insert cuss words here.] There goes a $120 flight for nothing. And three days wasted.

So flash forward to February. Today. (You can perhaps see why I booked a one-way flight this time. My thought was to stay until this is finished, even if I have to do a stake-out in front of his office.) We show up at his office a little before 9 a.m. Mr. Pig has not yet arrived, so we take a seat and wait.

Around 11:30 a.m. we give up and call his cell phone asking politely if he has plans to show up today. He says he’ll be in soon. (Patience is key in Thailand. We are being model citizens.)

After 1:00 P.M we give up again and call his cell phone asking a little more forcefully precisely when he plans on showing up. He complains that we did not make an appointment time with him, we just said we would come this day, so he didn’t know exactly when he had to show up (apparently he doesn’t work otherwise?). But, never fear, he would be there within the hour. My cousin’s husband relays the phone conversation back to us and my cousin walks out of the room at this point (rather than display temper). I discover later that when she called to make the appointment, Mr. Pig said he didn’t want her to make an appointment for a specific time, just to come this day.

Finally, at 2 p.m. he shows up and calls us to his desk. (This time I’m dressed in tailored slacks and a fine blouse, and he comments that I now wai (bow) like a Thai person.) He grumbles at us for a few minutes, asking more inane questions, that I’ve since forgotten for their inanity, then goes through the paperwork. Then, stamp stamp stamp, it’s approved. That cousin who was supposed to testify for me? Came and wasted an entire day. Those university transcripts I ordered from the U.S. and paid to have translated? Not needed.

They entered the information in the computer. Copies upon copies where made. Sign here and there and over here and over there. Both thumbs printed in ink and scanned in the computer. What’s your occupation again? Blood type? Go take a picture. Move to the left, no right, a little bit left…no more right. Actually turn your body to the left, but your face to the right…(You think I’m kidding, don’t you? No, by the time they actually take the picture I’m about to scream at them, so my ID photo has this WTF?! look of incredulity on it. Awesome.)

And then…IT’S DONE. (And it’s 4 p.m. We’ve been there for SEVEN HOURS, people. SEVEN HOURS.)

Except it’s not really done because they’ve only issued me a temporary card printed on yellow paper. I have to come back to Bangkok in June for the permanent one.

But…Thailand has a small problem where apparently they have the machines to make ID cards with a chip in them super-fancy…but they ran out of ID cards. They’re hoping to have them again within 120 days. But they’ve been saying that for a while now and they ran out of the ID cards over a year ago.

Seriously, Thailand? Seriously? You can’t issue ID cards because you ran out of them?

So, in the meantime, anyone with a temporary card has to come back every few months and have it renewed and have their pictures and thumbprints taken again.

So in JUNE I may or may not have an actual ID card.

EDIT: I should mention I have had other dealings with some Thai authorities since this began and in my other experiences, they have been fair and just and, even if things take time, very considerate. So it can go both ways and perhaps this guy is just a particularly stinky sort of governmental specimen.