Vis-a-Vis Visas

So, I'm off soon to a country, for which I have to apply for a visa. This country will go unnamed, but I'm sure you can guess which one it is. Hint: it's the only one where you have to pay a hundred bucks whether they allow you in or not...

Anyway, the process has been going quite well for me, thankfully, but today was the day when I had to actually go to the embassy. There was a lot of form-filling, online and off, and fee-paying... Boy, was there a lot of fee paying! Application fee here, issuance fee there, an extra amount for something or other and one they forgot to tell me about... But the part that got to me was the waiting process, and, of course, I had to write about it.

Now, it's a nice building, cool and clean, and there's security you have to go through, which is fine (although why they seize cellphones is a bit beyond me). Then you get to another room, rather reminiscent of a bank, and there are chairs for people to sit on and wait, and, let me tell you, there were plenty of people. Really a lot, which somehow surprised me.

So, you wait and wait, until you get called to one window, where they take your paperwork, and then you wait some more, until they call you to another window, where they take your fingerprints (not kidding; it was a little transparent cube giving off an eery green glow), and then you wait some more, until they do the actual interview, which is, as I mentioned, like at a bank, when you approach a teller.

Now, all this is very, very understandable, the bureaucracy is completely acceptable in my opinion and the waiting conditions were just fine. There was a TV on a local news channel there and a bathroom, too. I had brought along something to read (I think I was the only one there with that much foresight; all the other tens of people were just scowling and staring at one another, or at nothing), there were some magazines strewn about as well (old copies of, strangely, the British weekly Economist), and even a little corner with a horsey and building blocks, in case of kids.

The ones being interviewed, however, were in complete sight of and absolute earshot of the rest, and that was the part that really bothered me. Whether in English, Armenian or Russian, everyone's story was made apparent: someone was visiting grandkids, someone's mom was having an operation, some girl had a boyfriend there... And people often got rejected, right before our eyes! They would plead, they would explain, but, to no avail; the people on the other side would simply repeat "Goodbye" or "Do svidania", and, if that didn't work, they would pull down a blinds curtain from their side, beyond the glass...! (The middle-aged guy with the rustic appearance sitting next to me was running a commentary, "Ay, chantsav... Uhu, sran karmir etiketkan tvets, antsav es meke...")

Gosh, I felt really upset for them, honestly speaking... I actually felt like writing a play based on that situation. It looked pretty cool in my head; it would be in three languages, with a bunch of people, each one has his or her story, and some would get their visas in the end, some would not, a real tearjerker (yes, this was at the point when my mind was wandering as I had stopped reading the thing I had brought with me because I couldn't concentrate what with all the interviewing going on...).

Now, I absolutely understand these strict policies for a number of reason which don't need to be mentioned here, but I wish I weren't a part of it. Surely they could have had separate rooms for waiting and interviewing... ?Anyway, my bit went through smoothly, for which I am very glad, but there are a couple of would-be fiancées and perhaps-fake grandmas around Yerevan today, who won't be on board that flight...