Ok, I'm not going to lie. I've been putting this off because I wanted to make it really cool...but I lack the html and photoshop skills to do so. So for now, I hope this is worthwhile without phalanxes charging across the screen to Blitzkrieg Bop.
Fuck, as if science hasn't done enough trying to take away God, now they are saying that daydreaming causes Alzheimer's. Of course, from Wash U of all places. I think that means that if I would have pulled my head out of my ass while I was there, I would have thoughts not worth forgetting. Yet I blog away.
So yesterday, I finally got my visa to the UK. It was quite a frustrating trip. For starters, the toll booth lady wouldn't give me my change. Granted, it was only a nickel, but I certainly didn't want to be forced into obeisance by the toll booth woman. I gave her the money and while waiting for my change, she just smirked at me and tilted her head towards the gate. What could I do with 20 cars waiting behind me?
The next day, I got to the British consulate (I had to take a cab because I slept in) at 9:23. My appointment was at 9:30. When I presented my ticket (one can't enter the consulate without a previously booked appointment), she didn't look at it, or me, or even take her hands out from behind her head (let alone sit up), she just said "Can't come in till 9:30." So I waited out on the bridge over the Chicago and contemplated Dave Mathews purging his septic tank on the annoying tourists in the yacht below. By the time I had finished amusing myself, I realized that quite a line had formed in the intervening 7 minutes.
I finally arrived upstairs. In light of the recent attacks, getting a student visa has become quite a bit more stringent. I needed not only a letter from the university and my passport, but proof that I had funds to pay for my stay, my old passport, my undergraduate degree, the VAF-1 form, 2 passport sized photos, and stool sample. For this I was rewarded with a visa that was actually printed into my passport with a digital photo, as opposed to a mere stamp with some numbers.
At this point, I was far from assured of receiving my visa though. I witnessed 2 students leaving within the week get rejected... Finally, I was called up to the bulletproof glass. (I had already checked in with security to get into the Wrigley building, and been searched by the British guard before entering the consulate.)
There are two kinds of "posh" British accents. First of all, there is the Marry Poppins. That is sweet and endearing, and can't but put the listener at ease. Alternatively, there is the accent of the suffragette in that very same movie. It manages to capture the haughtiness of a Frenchman and combine it with the formality of an Englishman. The teller at the window had the latter.
I can't describe the accent much more than that, so just imagine the following dialogue in the most grating voice you can conjure:
"You are getting a masters IN the UK?"
"Yes"
"A masters in the UK is only one year."
"I didn't finish."
"DID YOU FAIL?" (bear in mind everyone in the small room is staring at one of the two people being 'helped' by the consular officials...its like the BMV with less privacy)
"No"
"A MASTERS IN THE UK IS ONLY ONE YEAR!"
"Here's my letter from the school."
"It says you were ill, what was wrong with you."
(Imagined response: "The queen gave me syphilis.")
"Um...um..."
"YOU CAN WRITE DOWN" (her voice reaching fevered pitch)
... (Imagined stares penetrate the back of my head. I now know why the bulletproof glass. Were it normal glass, I might have punched through it like the Terminator at this point.)
"Look, I don't mean to be personal, but we need to know if you can finish your masters."
("Thanks for your concern as to how I spend my $40,000+)
"Heart trouble"
"Will you be able to finish now?"
"Yeah"
"Why did you go to London in December?"
("To run some hoes")
"Transit to Egypt"
"Why were you in Egypt?"
("To learn to wage global jihad")
"Vacation"
"What does your cousin do in London?"
("He imports weapons, hashish, and Moldovan hookers.")
"He's an executive with Sabre. Heard of it?"
"Yeah, come back at 2:30 and we'll have your visa."
Meanwhile, the dandy of a teller next door was having an interesting discussion with the guy (dressed like trucker, in jeans and a Campbell hat) in the next line:
"What is your occupation?"
"I'm a limo driver for an escort service."
"And you've secured employment in the UK?"
"Yep."
(I'm wishing I could phase through the wall like Nightcrawler at this point and not paying attention for awhile)
"Well sir, I don't believe all your papers are in order, you'll have to come back.... what's it like working for an escort service."
"I just drive the cars, the girls are REAL nice though. Want me to bring one for you?"
"Erm..eh hem..well... I'm at work I really can't be having a girl at this very moment but..."
I pass back through the metal detector.
.... I should add that I had a great time with my sister the rest of the weekend. We saw 40-Year-Old-Virgin... much funnier than expected and ate some good food. :D
Fuck, as if science hasn't done enough trying to take away God, now they are saying that daydreaming causes Alzheimer's. Of course, from Wash U of all places. I think that means that if I would have pulled my head out of my ass while I was there, I would have thoughts not worth forgetting. Yet I blog away.
So yesterday, I finally got my visa to the UK. It was quite a frustrating trip. For starters, the toll booth lady wouldn't give me my change. Granted, it was only a nickel, but I certainly didn't want to be forced into obeisance by the toll booth woman. I gave her the money and while waiting for my change, she just smirked at me and tilted her head towards the gate. What could I do with 20 cars waiting behind me?
The next day, I got to the British consulate (I had to take a cab because I slept in) at 9:23. My appointment was at 9:30. When I presented my ticket (one can't enter the consulate without a previously booked appointment), she didn't look at it, or me, or even take her hands out from behind her head (let alone sit up), she just said "Can't come in till 9:30." So I waited out on the bridge over the Chicago and contemplated Dave Mathews purging his septic tank on the annoying tourists in the yacht below. By the time I had finished amusing myself, I realized that quite a line had formed in the intervening 7 minutes.
I finally arrived upstairs. In light of the recent attacks, getting a student visa has become quite a bit more stringent. I needed not only a letter from the university and my passport, but proof that I had funds to pay for my stay, my old passport, my undergraduate degree, the VAF-1 form, 2 passport sized photos, and stool sample. For this I was rewarded with a visa that was actually printed into my passport with a digital photo, as opposed to a mere stamp with some numbers.
At this point, I was far from assured of receiving my visa though. I witnessed 2 students leaving within the week get rejected... Finally, I was called up to the bulletproof glass. (I had already checked in with security to get into the Wrigley building, and been searched by the British guard before entering the consulate.)
There are two kinds of "posh" British accents. First of all, there is the Marry Poppins. That is sweet and endearing, and can't but put the listener at ease. Alternatively, there is the accent of the suffragette in that very same movie. It manages to capture the haughtiness of a Frenchman and combine it with the formality of an Englishman. The teller at the window had the latter.
I can't describe the accent much more than that, so just imagine the following dialogue in the most grating voice you can conjure:
"You are getting a masters IN the UK?"
"Yes"
"A masters in the UK is only one year."
"I didn't finish."
"DID YOU FAIL?" (bear in mind everyone in the small room is staring at one of the two people being 'helped' by the consular officials...its like the BMV with less privacy)
"No"
"A MASTERS IN THE UK IS ONLY ONE YEAR!"
"Here's my letter from the school."
"It says you were ill, what was wrong with you."
(Imagined response: "The queen gave me syphilis.")
"Um...um..."
"YOU CAN WRITE DOWN" (her voice reaching fevered pitch)
... (Imagined stares penetrate the back of my head. I now know why the bulletproof glass. Were it normal glass, I might have punched through it like the Terminator at this point.)
"Look, I don't mean to be personal, but we need to know if you can finish your masters."
("Thanks for your concern as to how I spend my $40,000+)
"Heart trouble"
"Will you be able to finish now?"
"Yeah"
"Why did you go to London in December?"
("To run some hoes")
"Transit to Egypt"
"Why were you in Egypt?"
("To learn to wage global jihad")
"Vacation"
"What does your cousin do in London?"
("He imports weapons, hashish, and Moldovan hookers.")
"He's an executive with Sabre. Heard of it?"
"Yeah, come back at 2:30 and we'll have your visa."
Meanwhile, the dandy of a teller next door was having an interesting discussion with the guy (dressed like trucker, in jeans and a Campbell hat) in the next line:
"What is your occupation?"
"I'm a limo driver for an escort service."
"And you've secured employment in the UK?"
"Yep."
(I'm wishing I could phase through the wall like Nightcrawler at this point and not paying attention for awhile)
"Well sir, I don't believe all your papers are in order, you'll have to come back.... what's it like working for an escort service."
"I just drive the cars, the girls are REAL nice though. Want me to bring one for you?"
"Erm..eh hem..well... I'm at work I really can't be having a girl at this very moment but..."
I pass back through the metal detector.
.... I should add that I had a great time with my sister the rest of the weekend. We saw 40-Year-Old-Virgin... much funnier than expected and ate some good food. :D
posted by akrites @ 2:15 PM
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