Tales from the Towers: Going nowhere

In preparation for my trip to the US, I checked my passport and was dismayed to notice my American visa had run out. I sat in the travel office and talked to my agent.

"Well," she said, "This is a cinch, and we'll manage. But you'll have to go to the American Consulate in Tel Aviv in order to renew your visa."

"All the way to Tel-Aviv?" I asked, shocked.

It's just that I'm not a "traveling person," at least not a happily traveling person. After having traveled to many countries and having lived on three different continents, I still am not a happily traveling person, and a trip makes me feel unsettled, no matter whether it's to Tel Aviv or San Diego.

"But wait," continued my agent, "Before you go to the Tel-Aviv Consulate there are several things you have to do."

"What?" I asked.

"First you go to your nearest Post Office and you ask for a pin number. You also pay for it."

"What's a pin number?"

"There they will know. You just get it and come back to me. Then we have to ask for an appointment at the consulate. You have to be there exactly on the date and the hour stated on the invitation."

"What happens if I can't go on the day which is indicated on the invitation?"

"Well, you'll have to! What's more, nobody can accompany you, because it is you and you alone who can enter the consulate building. But if somebody comes with you, you have the advantage of being able to leave your bag with that person, who will have to wait outside. Which means he'll literally be left holding the bag... If you come alone and you have a bag or a purse, it will have to be checked in at the entrance, and that costs money."

"So this is how the richest nation on earth becomes even richer! Checking in my bag contributes. Interesting. Do you think I might encounter any difficulties in obtaining the visa?"

"No, you probably won't. But you'll have to take along some documents showing that you have an income, and where this income comes from! 

The day was very hot and I felt a splitting headache coming on. All I wanted was to go home.

"Is this all?" I asked my helpful agent.

"Well, not quite. You will have to go to the Post Office again and tell them you want to pay for an American Visa. This should cost about $120 dollars."

By that time I was no longer sure I wanted to fly to San Diego. Or go to Tel-Aviv. Or see the American Consul. I got up, and when I reached the door, the agent called out:

"Oh yes, and don't forget the passport photos. They should be 5 x 5 and on a white background. You have to pull back your hair so that your ears are visible. It shouldn't matter whether they are pretty or not. They only need to be visible on the photo.  I mean, otherwise you can wear your hair the way you like it! They know about this in the photo shop. You will get 4 photos, but you need only one, and that one you must glue to an indicated spot on the invitation which you'll receive!"

"This is a veritable odyssey," I said to all the people sitting in the office.

"Oh, that's nothing, the simplest thing you can imagine," said my agent. "If you stay here for a while you'll be amazed  at what people expect us to do for them! In my next life I want to be  the one who only buys travel tickets, and not the one who sells them!"

"By the way, I have 4 people who already booked a trip to the moon, and I have one man who wants to get into North Korea at any price! You have no idea..."

No, I had no idea, and I didn't want one. My most pressing desire at that time was to get out of there and fast!

Lucca