Next to the mayor’s office, as promised, we encountered the office of the registrar. A sign above the door identified it. We walked inside and talked to a young, Spanish-speaking woman about the titles. She told us we had the wrong room.
“But the sign above the door—” the secretary objected.
The three of us stepped back into the hall and again inspected the sign, which now proclaimed the office of public utilities.
“It must have moved,” the young woman told us. “Try the first floor.”
The secretary and I descended the flights of stairs and prowled around the first floor, checking signs. Presently the Turkish clerk stepped out of his office and addressed us.
“You just missed it,” he said. “It was here a moment ago but it moved upstairs again.”
“A moment ago?”
“Just a moment.” He smiled. He was really a helpful man; he was just stuck in a trying situation. I realized this was the case with many Nicaraguans.
-From Tales from the Boiler Room; link below.