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visa spectacular
Jun. 23rd, 2010 07:26 pmI am so, so, so, tired but I HAVE GOT MY US VISA FUCK YEAH.
(Coincidentally, my debit card for a US-based account came today as well, so, fingers crossed on the whole admin front.)
Seriously, though, that was painful. I gathered together all the data over the last six weeks - my name, my mother's maiden name, any time I have visited the US in the last five years (for this I actually sat and read most of my own LJ), my educational history, whether or not I was ever a Nazi, etc., etc. - and booked the interview after several attempts, a great deal of swearing and a £40 phone bill. And then![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jacinthsong kindly put me up (and put up with me, an entirely different thing) last night, and I set out at seven this morning to overcome strife and the US embassy (which is still officially known as the United States embassy to the Court of St. James's, a fact which inordinately delights me).
God, the building's ugly, isn't it? It's this horrible blocky monstrosity in the middle of Grosvenor Square, of all places, and just to add the final horrible touch, it's got a gold-painted bald eagle statue on the roof. But I got there before eight and started queuing, and took solace in the fact the sun was out and that I was not, as the leaflet puts it, "standing in inclement weather". I had to queue up twice, before they told me I couldn't come in because I had a calculator and a key fob, both of which are prohibited electronics. So then I had to run out to a nearby left-luggage place (which is actually a pharmacy; when I deposited my stuff they were looking somewhat harried because of a woman with four suitcases shouting at them because they wouldn't store all her stuff for free) and then run back again, and then when I'd got in and taken a number and queued up again, they said my photographs, which they'd previously said were fine, were... not.
So I ran out to the same pharmacy to get more - extortionately expensive - pictures, and ran back again, and this time they said they'd take my paperwork but I'd have to wait for an interview. So I sat down and waited, and they did call me up to the desk - but as I got there, the consular person said, I'm sorry, ma'am, but would you mind terribly if we let the person behind you go first, instead? And I was all set to stamp my feet - the Indian High Commission has given me a default setting for dealing with consular service providers, which is "extremely belligerent" - but then I realised the person behind me had a forest's worth of paperwork in one hand and a newborn baby in the other. And then I felt very bad for thinking I had it bad.
So I sat down again. And then, the actual interview was a breeze. "What are you studying at Cornell?" asked the chap.
"Law," I said.
"Sounds great. Here."
Papers, signed, sealed, delivered. I was impressed. My passport will be returned to me by courier in three to five working days, and I am advised to call the Foreign Office if it isn't.
In conclusion: I've got my visa, and can stop HAVING KITTENS. I was quite amused by some aspects of the whole procedure; I was warned that there would be armed guards, X-ray scanners, really extreme security, and while there was that level of security, the security people were British. They were police officers and they were British. I went in and out of the embassy four separate times over two hours, and during that time I never saw a single one of them do anything other than gossip and drink tea out of enormous mugs. They were very cheering. And when I finished, finally, and walked past in the direction of the Tube, they all grinned cheerfully and waved.
Afterwards I got a train back up, walked home, was horrified to discover it was still only 3pm. At least I'll sleep tonight.
I really should try and do a bit of work before bed, and maybe finish a fic. But to finish with something else entirely: wintercreek on DW has podficced one of my stories. Lonely Hearts, a yuletide treat I wrote forpetronelle in 2008, and one of my favourites of my Slings & Arrows stories. I won't say this is a rec, because hey, I wrote the story, but the recording is marvellously expressive and made me chuckle.
That's it. I need sleep.
(Coincidentally, my debit card for a US-based account came today as well, so, fingers crossed on the whole admin front.)
Seriously, though, that was painful. I gathered together all the data over the last six weeks - my name, my mother's maiden name, any time I have visited the US in the last five years (for this I actually sat and read most of my own LJ), my educational history, whether or not I was ever a Nazi, etc., etc. - and booked the interview after several attempts, a great deal of swearing and a £40 phone bill. And then
jacinthsong kindly put me up (and put up with me, an entirely different thing) last night, and I set out at seven this morning to overcome strife and the US embassy (which is still officially known as the United States embassy to the Court of St. James's, a fact which inordinately delights me). God, the building's ugly, isn't it? It's this horrible blocky monstrosity in the middle of Grosvenor Square, of all places, and just to add the final horrible touch, it's got a gold-painted bald eagle statue on the roof. But I got there before eight and started queuing, and took solace in the fact the sun was out and that I was not, as the leaflet puts it, "standing in inclement weather". I had to queue up twice, before they told me I couldn't come in because I had a calculator and a key fob, both of which are prohibited electronics. So then I had to run out to a nearby left-luggage place (which is actually a pharmacy; when I deposited my stuff they were looking somewhat harried because of a woman with four suitcases shouting at them because they wouldn't store all her stuff for free) and then run back again, and then when I'd got in and taken a number and queued up again, they said my photographs, which they'd previously said were fine, were... not.
So I ran out to the same pharmacy to get more - extortionately expensive - pictures, and ran back again, and this time they said they'd take my paperwork but I'd have to wait for an interview. So I sat down and waited, and they did call me up to the desk - but as I got there, the consular person said, I'm sorry, ma'am, but would you mind terribly if we let the person behind you go first, instead? And I was all set to stamp my feet - the Indian High Commission has given me a default setting for dealing with consular service providers, which is "extremely belligerent" - but then I realised the person behind me had a forest's worth of paperwork in one hand and a newborn baby in the other. And then I felt very bad for thinking I had it bad.
So I sat down again. And then, the actual interview was a breeze. "What are you studying at Cornell?" asked the chap.
"Law," I said.
"Sounds great. Here."
Papers, signed, sealed, delivered. I was impressed. My passport will be returned to me by courier in three to five working days, and I am advised to call the Foreign Office if it isn't.
In conclusion: I've got my visa, and can stop HAVING KITTENS. I was quite amused by some aspects of the whole procedure; I was warned that there would be armed guards, X-ray scanners, really extreme security, and while there was that level of security, the security people were British. They were police officers and they were British. I went in and out of the embassy four separate times over two hours, and during that time I never saw a single one of them do anything other than gossip and drink tea out of enormous mugs. They were very cheering. And when I finished, finally, and walked past in the direction of the Tube, they all grinned cheerfully and waved.
Afterwards I got a train back up, walked home, was horrified to discover it was still only 3pm. At least I'll sleep tonight.
I really should try and do a bit of work before bed, and maybe finish a fic. But to finish with something else entirely: wintercreek on DW has podficced one of my stories. Lonely Hearts, a yuletide treat I wrote for
petronelle in 2008, and one of my favourites of my Slings & Arrows stories. I won't say this is a rec, because hey, I wrote the story, but the recording is marvellously expressive and made me chuckle.That's it. I need sleep.
