Dear Monday,
I thought we were in a healthy place in our relationship. Normally you let me sleep in, enjoy time with my pets, and binge on Netflix until about 2:00pm. We have been doing pretty well together for the past three months. What made you change your mind? Do I not make you happy anymore? Is it because I didn't dress up for you like I normally do? We could have worked things out. All you had to do was say something. Apparently dropping hints is not your specialty so you had to drop bombs.
I woke up this morning at 7:45am with a smile on my face. My friend told me last night they only lived about 30 minutes from Puerto Madero, you know where the Buquebus to Uruguay is located. When I double checked the maps in the morning, it said an hour. I had already slept in though Monday. Now I'm getting anxious. All of the subway cars were tragically full but they ran every 2 minutes. I thought you were looking out for me. I even caught the 4 bus right on time too. We were doing well since it was only 9:00am when I arrived in Puerto Madero. I just wish you told me Puerto Madero was not just a port but a whole community. My Buquebus was at 9:45am and my anxiety was triggered. I walked for over a half an hour with my bag and rolling luggage around Puerto Madero looking for the terminal. I roamed the streets, and asked everyone for directions. Monday, did you know cabs don't accept credit cards out here? It was about 9:29am when the genuine fear of being late kicked in. All I had was USD but something told me a cab would take it but they all stopped driving down the street. That was when I saw the one lonely cab being cleaned out. Was that you Monday who sent my Angelito? He got me to the station by 9:36 and I gave him $10 USD just because it was a blessing to even be on time. I rolled my way across the lobby and waited at the ticket booth. I smiled and whipped out my passport ready for this new adventure, Uruguay! Then something came up. They told me I couldn't board. My tourist Visa had expired on the 19th and I could no longer leave the country. You would think they would force someone who has overstayed their welcome to leave but I guess that would be too easy for all parties. Even with this new speed bump I had, there was still hope. I just had to pay a fine at the immigration office. If I returned by the 12:30 ferry, I just would have to pay a ticket difference of $212 ARP ($14 USD). The attendant gave me the address for the immigration office and I saw it was located at the Retiro bus station. I got a little nervous Monday because I thought you were trying to give me the run around across town. Then when they told me Retiro was 3 blocks north, I realized who you really were Monday. It would have been easier for me to get to the Buquebus directly from my house because Retiro is my end of the line train station. You hurt me Monday and I was scorned. It was clear that you wanted to play hardball.
Again, I don't know why you chose to do this to me today Monday. I mean really, of all days to pull such a stunt. Very mature. *Sighs* It was 2 minute short of 10:00am when I grabbed my ticket at the immigration office. The front room was packed, lined with people from all over Latin America, the Caribbean, Africa, and a hand full from east Asia. The officer directed me to edificio 6 where the real magic happens. It was the equivalent of the DMV. There were booths of people on break when they just opened, seats among seats for people to wait, and monitors that displayed ticket numbers. I entered the building at M053 with ticket number M066 in my hand but by God that was not going to stop me. There were families and single people. There were elderly folks and young adults. There was you Monday and there was me. Around 10:26 my number was called. I know it was you Monday, impersonating a Federal employee, sitting in front of me as you told me my fee was $1500 ARP ($100 USD) and you don't accept credit or debit. You already knew my wallet was full of dollars waiting to be exchanged in Uruguay. Since I had been in Argentina I have managed to avoid banks and exchange money with my supervisor and visiting Americans. In the words of the 21st century American scholar Kevin Hart, "You gon' learn today." Monday if you wanted to take a break you did not have to break my wallet and my heart at the same time. I did not even know where a bank was in the area. You, the federal employee, told me near the Sheraton Hotel across from the train station. It was 10:30am and I had two hours to get $1500 ARP. I did not realize I was staring in a B rated film today. I thought I was the Queen of drama dear Monday, but once again, you outdid me.
My rolling luggage and I then trooped into Retiro just how you wanted. We rolled past the Sheraton covered in their international flags. We stopped at two banks, both who only served private clients but informed me of this "Casa de Cambio" or Change House. It is amazing how many forms you can take on in one day Monday. You went from the sun rising and fresh air to a pit of snakes feasting upon my pain. Let me tell you, when that cashier told me she could not serve me because my passport visa was expired, I was about to lose it. How do you refuse to convert money to someone trying to pay to leave your country? I have a suitcase in my hand. Where am I going, seriously? If you were a movie Monday, you would be the Aaliyah biopic from Lifetime on repeat. Just when you think it couldn't get worse, it plays again and you realize how much terribleness you missed the first time. For a second, I thought you defeated me Monday. I walked out of there feeling completely powerless. With only limited wifi, there was not much I can do. Who can I call at 11:00am to meet me in Retiro with $1500 ARP?
For a second I almost began to cry. This was the most ridiculous situation that could happen and for what reason? Do I go home now? Does this fee increase if I wait a few more months to leave? At what point does a fine convert to jail time? Is this the same in the States? For those who do migrate undocumented, if this is common in the U.S. as well, no one is traveling back and forth as they please to visit family. You are essentially confined to the country. Then I thought about the faces in the immigration office this morning. I'm having a panic attack over a mistake. What have others gone through to get here? Is there someone living with them who can never go back home? Was it worth it?
Monday, you had the best of me for a second. You had me at my most American, demanding a Venti Ice Skinny Caramel Macchiato at the local Starbucks. I was in panic mode calling my mom then my sister so she would call my mom. Growing up we had a saying, WWJD, "What Would Joan Do?" But Joan was not answering her phone to tell me what she would do. I know you got to her too Monday. Because you are a terrible day of the week and you ruin everyone purely for your own gain. You animal, you. There were no other options, I went into pep talk mode to coach myself out of this: "Alright Nic, we gotta get through this. You really can't give up and go home right now. That's way too much money down the drain. How are you going to explain this to the ELCA if the next time you try to leave you go in handcuffs? You know what, after this morning you deserve to go to Montevideo. Sit on the beach like you said, right? Right, now let's go get this money!"
As always, I was right. You don't deserve me Monday and you absolutely do not deserve my tears. I may be running around Buenos Aires looking like an off colored BOCA jersey but that is neither here or there. It was 11:15 when I ventured back into the hunt for Pesos. I tried to do a series of exchanges with a gift store around the corner. They said they accepted dollars so I offered them $100 bill to pay for a lighter. It was a no go. What else was I suppose to do Monday? The odds were not in my favor today. Fortunately the shop attendant, between me begging him to accept my dollars, shared his Venezuelan heritage and family background with me. Finally I broke and confided in a fellow Brown person who has also dealt with immigrations here in Argentina. I explained to him my situation and without the skip of a beat, he asked his coworker to cover the store as he walked me to another exchange place. He said "There are a lot of people on the street saying "change, change" but it's not safe. I will take you somewhere you can trust." We walked through a shady mall, down an alley, and to my right was a Colombian and Venezuelan owned business that I assume served with cash exchanges and transferring money back home. I almost cried. Aside from being overwhelmed with the kindness of walking me here, I saw a clear example of community. Yes, it is a business of sorts but everyone knows each other well. It felt like a safe space for those who are of different countries of Latin origin which is so necessary for these reasons. We need to take care of each other because no one else will. After you Monday, I know all too well how it feels to be let down by something you trust. I waited for two people to complete transactions before it was my turn. They counted my money, wrote a post it note with how much I should receive and sent me to a second office for the Pesos. For a moment my anxiety was defeated by how scandalous all of this felt. After feeling like a leper in Jerusalem, someone finally finally brought me to Jesus. It was 11:34am and I had less than an hour.
It was a real bible miracle how I managed to not get swallowed whole by your antics Monday. Honestly. Truly. Then again, Faith Alone. Grace Alone. A cab stopped for me and we zipped over to the Immigrations Office. It felt like my brain turned off for those four minutes as I had no clue what he was saying to me. Of where do I come? United States, but why is he not accepting this answer? I am going to Uruguay, but he is resistant to this response too. We are going to have to sit in silence because right now my heart is pounding too loud to hear him. I walked in by 11:47am and completed all of my transactions by 12:03pm. At this point you were busy ruining someone else's life Monday. In those few minutes when you took your eye off the ball, I managed to plead for my freedom to leave and pay the fine. The federal employees collectively asked me where I was going and confirmed three times that I was leaving today. "Claro! Mi Buquebus es en cuarenta minutos!" Why are people doubting my desire to leave? There is literally no other reason why I would want to pay this if I planned on staying. When they handed me my documents I power walked my heart out of that office and took off for the Buquebus terminal. I walked passed the coast guard, a few boats, and the gate to Buquebus. It was a dirt road but I glided like it was ice. It was 12:13pm and others were still in the check-in process. Thank God.
$130 USD later and I made it to Uruguay.
Honestly Monday, I don't know what I would have done if you threw anymore curve balls at me. Break ups are hard but this is just tacky. There has never been a time where I dreaded you like I did today. Maybe this has been happening all along and I have just been negligent to your behavior. Now that I think of it, on two other occasions you have maliciously attacked all of my decency but like today, I overcame your hate. With this being said, I am writing to you to confirm this break up. You are no longer an acceptable day of the week. You will now be referred to as "Mud-day" as mud is unwanted as well yet somehow we still have to deal with it. Best of luck in the future. I hope you get marked off of everyone's calendar and lose your privilege of being called a "day" in the English language. While you continue to be the bitter lingering ex that everyone cringes around, I am going to live my best life and better plan out my 90 day trips.
Regards,
Nic
#ReclaimMissionary
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