Gees I'm resenting beauracracy lately, not least because I'm not even 100% sure how to spell it. It's always been there, of course, but lately it's like it's taking over my life. Just when I get one bit of paperwork done, there's another. And another. And another. Today has been no different - I won't bore you with administrative details, but let me just tell you that as the admin requirements and FEES have continued fo pile up, I've been wondering quite often whether we are quite honestly insane in even trying to tackle such a ridiculous mission.
Just last Wednesday Tim and I had to fly to Sydney to get our US visas - basically so we can flit back and forth over the Canadian border until our little hearts are content - which would have been straightforward (still expensive, but straightforward) had I not lost my passport.
AAGH!
We tore the house to pieces looking for it (sorry landlord) but no luck. After much umming and ahing over what to do, we ended up flying down anyway, figuring that Tim and the kids could at least get theirs and I'd just have to fly back another time once I'd found/replaced my p'port.
Just last Wednesday Tim and I had to fly to Sydney to get our US visas - basically so we can flit back and forth over the Canadian border until our little hearts are content - which would have been straightforward (still expensive, but straightforward) had I not lost my passport.
AAGH!
We tore the house to pieces looking for it (sorry landlord) but no luck. After much umming and ahing over what to do, we ended up flying down anyway, figuring that Tim and the kids could at least get theirs and I'd just have to fly back another time once I'd found/replaced my p'port.
To cut a very long and frustrating story short, the punchline is that after an unbelievable morning from hell trying to accumulate all the relevant paperwork in time for our US Consulate interview, I ended up spitting the dummy, running full-ball up to the visa processing office and bawling my eyes out...only to look up and realise that Peter O'Brien aka Shane from Neighbours (he was one of my fave dudes ever back when he was fighting Des for Daphne way back in the day) aka the lead guy from White Collar Blue aka the hubby of Miranda Otto from Lord of the Rings and other stuff, was sitting right there, looking up at me and offering a sympathetic smile.
I avoided eye contact and pretended it was not happening.
I avoided eye contact and pretended it was not happening.
I was not crying. Not in the US Consulate. Not in front of Shane.
It took every inch of strength not to stick my fingers in my ears and start singing Mary had a little lamb. Boy am I glad I didn't do that. Cos hello?! Talk about embarrassing...
It took every inch of strength not to stick my fingers in my ears and start singing Mary had a little lamb. Boy am I glad I didn't do that. Cos hello?! Talk about embarrassing...
6 comments:
Hooray! I'm not the only person who freaks out at inappropriate moments!
Ahem. I mean, gee, that's tough. ;)
I hate the mountains of paperwork you have to go through to do anything of significance. I'm currently trying to phone the tax office, and do you think I can get through?
Cheers, Natalie.
PS. How long until you go? You mentioned something at the improv fest about a farewell party. I will be angry if I find out I haven't been invited... ;)
Thank you for your empathy. ;-)
And of COURSE you're invited!! Just trying to work out a venue, then it will be all systems go. Make sure you keep the 21st July free. HOT TIP OF THE DAY.
Ah, life likes to work that way. My true sympathy is anything having to do with US consulates. Yuck!
It'll be all worth it as you fly out...
:)
had a moment of delayed telecast synchronicity (if that works - in yr face Jung!) when I read this. I'd just been told by my Essex girl work mate that her mate had [Blair from Big Brother then Neighbours - she said the character name, but u think I recognise?] serve her in a London pub somewhere. Then I read this and I'm flung back to when I saw Peter O'Brien (now I know his name too - I remember him from the Flying Doctors though) and the lovely (and short-arsed - you can't really tell in that wonderful scene from Nostradamus Kid)) Miranda Otto grappling with their Hummer-like baby carriage in the not-so-auspicious surrounds of a Carphone Warehouse in Notting Hill. At the time I thought the tight expressions on their face as they (and I) went about our mobile phone oriented business spoke volumes about the shock and horror of living as a provincial but full-fuctioning Australian in metro but barely glued together London. I mighta been projecting, mebbe it was just baby blues.
There, good story and tied in a family link. Good luck with the visa shit - step on their necks dear.
Kate - thanks. Actually in a happy epilogue, by the time we got up to the interview itself they were super nice. They even processed my application without my passport being present. Unbelievable.
rn_buffoon - I hope you're right! Cos if we get over there and end up forfeiting the right to travel in and out of the place as much as we like, Mama's not gonna be happy!
Leon - How bizarre! Carphone Warehouse plus sleep deprivation = crap on legs. I don't blame them for scrunching up their faces one bit. PS Come over to Canada to visit us! xxx
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