Sometimes fortune favors the slackers. I spent a good part of last year kicking myself for not getting my act together sooner to apply for official accreditation as a foreign journalist, the cheapest route to a Turkish residence permit. As I finally navigated my way through the piles of paperwork involved in this process, I steeled myself for the purportedly horrific trip to the emniyet, or police department, the deepest darkest heart of Turkish bureaucracy. But, maşallah, said steeling was not necessary. When the time at last came, I had heard from no fewer than four other yabancıs, that as of this year, the eminyet was new and improved, now with actual lines, and numbers, and 100 percent less shoving. Every word of it proved true. I was almost disappointed. Almost.