Nothing Ever Changes.

We landed at Fiumicino Airport in Rome and were set to pick up our hire car. I was fully prepared, as usual, to stand in a massive queue at an understaffed desk where the company's sole value proposition – inefficiency – was fulfilled to 100%.

The solitary woman behind the counter was either just naturally nonchalant or had been popping beta blockers like sweets. But my brain was switched on to holiday mode, so it felt almost like a warm reunion. Perhaps I was somewhat influenced by the fact that we had booked our first two nights in the shadow of Italy's second-highest mountain, Gran Sasso, in a converted 16th-century monastery. A secluded place where meditation and tranquillity are embedded in the walls.

In my monk-like state, I suddenly spotted a poster urging quick digital check-in. A given in Sweden, but here, a revelation on par with weeping Madonna statues. I swiftly entered all my details and took photos of both my passport and driving licence. It must be said, the speed at the desk was still slow. But I knew that the nonchalant woman would not only be handling bookings; she also had to upsell everyone on insurance, which is how the company makes its money. Eventually, it was my turn, and I gave her my booking number, cheerfully stating that I had pre-booked. She tapped away at the keyboard, staring into the computer screen while handing me a piece of paper and a pen.

-Name, address, telephone number. Her tone was lobotomised, like an early version of Siri.

-Doesn’t it say in my booking? And I’ve also checked in digitally here, I said with a small laugh, gesturing towards the sign with the QR code.

-Write here, she replied, pointing at the notepad without meeting my gaze.

At this point, I felt something was about to snap. Like the moment before a glacier calves an ice floe or as if I had just eaten from a street stall in Bangkok. But that didn’t align with my holiday persona, so I bit my tongue, wrote it down, and found my inner calm again.

-Passport and driving licence! she continued sternly.

That’s when it broke. I was no longer the pious and harmonious monk. Perhaps I was more like a monk who had indulged in choir boys for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then sought forgiveness in confession afterwards.

-What’s the point of having to do everything again? I said loudly enough for all the other customers to fall silent. I threw my passport and driving licence onto the counter with a flourish. She met my dark gaze with a lifeless expression before eventually scanning my documents.

-Would you like comprehensive insurance that covers everything even if the car is completely wrecked? she mechanically inquired.

-Well, hopefully, I’d be dead by then, so perhaps we can skip that? I replied, clenching my fist so tightly that it crackled in the joints.

-I see you’ve already pre-booked with comprehensive insurance, she suddenly said, placing the car keys on the counter.

-So why do you ask me if you already KNOW?!

I was still seething as I drove up to the monastery. It dawned on me that the QR code and check-in were merely a way to kill time.

Italy remains unchanged. And unfortunately – so do I.