The Bar

Our search was on again. This time for a solicitor/barrister, or a justice of the peace for those of us who thought of solicitors as those annoying door-to-door persons asking for money or assistance or a buyer for their product or religion. No, they aren't those here. Here they are the kind of people you go to if you need a copy of an important document certified that it is indeed the full and complete copy of said document. I needed one of those. My international teaching qualification papers finally came through signifying that i am indeed qualified in the country of New Zealand to teach levels tot to teenager. The next step was to apply to the teachers council for my actual license to teach. We were directed in several various directions by some very helpful blokes and gals and not making any progress except to discover yet more streets we hadn't walked on yet. We came to a building devoted to nothing but solicitors/barristers and lawyers. Oh, goody. Surely we'll get someone who can stamp my papers and send me on my merry way. We worked our way up the elevators in a very unscientific fashion. Getting off on whatever floors the other "lift" patrons didn't. Floor 2. All on lunch. Floor 5. Out. Floor 3. Locked up for the day. (bizarre schedules, these keepers of the laws) Floor 8. Mr. Thwaite. Wait till you meet Mr. Thwaite. Heaven forbid you ever get to. He couldn't help us, he was too busy but literally forced the telephone book into my hands, and phone into Paul's and then switching, saying no that i should call he should look it up. All the while babbling somewhat incoherently about living in the States at one time and only ever paying taxes to Reagan. I called the first number, wouldn't be available to stamp anything until Thursday. We said, ok, hung up, told Mr. Thwaite thanks and proceeded to leave. He demanded we call another number telling us that the person we called would have been the last one he would have recommended. (excellent! you should have said so to begin with.) We called the next number. No answer. At this point we were itching to escape the tiny cramped getting stuffier by the second place of work. I gave Paul the look. He knew what i meant. Paul put on such a convincing performance i almost believed he actually got a hold of someone. We said thanks again, he was satisfied we had the help coming we needed and let us depart, we skipped the rest of the building. The following two places weren't going to have anyone to sign my papers till Thursday as well. Thursday seemed to be the significant day for that sort of thing so we stopped. Thursday we decided to try a little closer to home and walked across the street and up a bit coming to a very friendly barrister with a magnificent handlebar mustache. He signed and stamped right away, no questions asked no money charged. I have a renewed appreciation for gentlemen with handlebar mustaches. My great-grandfather had one, fairly magnificent one as well. Good story that goes along with it too. Ask my dad.