t meMeME

OK, I don't care how much work I have to do, I can't not post this. No, it's not that I don't care, it's just that I'm willing to postpone the doing-something-about-it a bit. I'm just making things longer, aren't I? Anyway: today I went for my visa interview.

The invitation paper had a list of instructions. And near each of them was a mention of how doing one of the things that were just forbidden will result in the need to start the whole process over again. Not a headline at the top of the list including something like "if you do one of the things specified below, your application will not be treated and you will have to request an interview again", no, that's not scary enough - that kind of warning was near each and every item.

So I had to be there on 7:45am ("You must not late. Those who fail to do so won't be admitted"). No, in fact, I had to be there 20 minutes before that ("You must arrive 20 minutes before the appointed time. Those who fail to do so won't be etc.). Why couldn't they just say "7:25", then? I don't know. Well, I decided to be a good girl and be there ahead of time, for the just-in-case. I was on a bus on 6:15am. Not leaving home then, not waking up then (which is way early for me - I don't think I'd make a very early member of the morning shift), already on the bus. Oh, and did I mention that on the night before I went to bed on 2am? It was by my own choosing, and it was because I finished (oh, this is such a fun word to type, finished) my grading of each and every exercise my students handed me this semester, but still. Um, right, topic. Moving on.

So, I arrived at the embassy (in the heart of Tel-Aviv, really close by to the beach) on around 7:00am. I'm sure I'm a little bit nuts, the one who arrived the earliest and therefore will have to amuse the security guards with her variety of yawns until the doors are open. Of course, I was wrong. At least a dozen of people were already there, waiting, and I think each and every one of them looked tired-er than me.

Not long after that, one of the guards told us to form a line. This instruction will repeat itself a lot in the story. The people at the embassy seem to be concerned most with the creation of lines, arranging them nicely, and once they're satisfied, moving them to some other place in the room, to see how they look in there. That was the first, and it was still outside. Each person had to wave their invitation paper ("You have to bring your invitation paper with you. Those who fail to etc."). Some people tried to push ahead of line (that's the Israeli version of lines - push ahead), but the guards were very strict.

Then they let us in, in groups of five, to the clearing before the door of the embassy, in order to stand in line in front of the door, for a security check. One of the requirements is to bring a small bag, not a backpack, and to not have any sort of electronic devices inside ("Those who fail etc."). Also, they're collecting the cell-phones at the entrance (you can't command an Israeli to not take their cell-phone with them anywhere, even inside their own house, so I guess it was just a matter of practicality, not to ask people to not come with cell-phones. Kids, however, you are not allowed to bring with you - that's the order of priorities).

After the security check, there was another line, outside the doors of the actual building. At least this one was under some sort of roof and not in the sun, so that was progress. After waiting there (I didn't really manage to find out why), we were allowed to go inside and form a really big line. All the way along one wall of a big room, and then curling in the corner and making an angle with it, and the sides were marked with posts and ropes. A line to be proud of. It seemed like they didn't want to open any of the reception points until the line was a long snake of people (and when they thought that it didn't contain enough people, they told us to stand closer together, so that they'd be able to squeeze in a few more. It was a line to tell stories about).

So there we waited, and figured that this is going to be the last stand before the actual interview and finger-prints process. There were people who were invited to 7:30, but by that time no reception booth was open and the only people to be seen were security guards. Everybody had their papers ready in hand ("You must bring your passport and this-and-this papers. Those who etc.") - lots and lots of papers. While I was waiting, I had some time to look around. The thing that caught my attention the most was a big poster, with photocopied papers attached to it, that had the headline "Most Wanted Terrorists". The photocopied picture were exactly like in the "WANTED!" adds on westerns, except for two main differences: the papers were laminated, and the poster had the FBI site address, which I think is a little newer than a sheriff's star.

And then, near 7:45, a booth opened! Life were discovered beyond the shutters! However, the one thing that was done in that booth was to give us back the papers each of us handed in to the travel agents (you can't schedule an interview in the USA embassy on your own, you have to do it through a travel agent). And then? We were directed to move aside, to form, you got it, another line.

So now there were two lines in the room, and from the 13 or so booths, only one was open. The second line grew, and the first one never became smaller, because new people kept arriving (it was then that I realized how lucky I was to get an early hour of admission).

[Edit: oh, this turned out long. Where did I think I was posting, the "Firefly" thread? To Be Continued]

The rest of the line story:

And then a second booth opened its shutters, and in that one something was actually done before transferring us to yet another line (still in the same room) - they took our fingerprints. You had to put your right forefinger on that instrument that had red light coming out from it, and if you peaked to the computer's screen of the embassy employee in front of you, you could see your finger print over it. Then you had to repeat it with your left hand. It was much more useful and much less messy then filling a paper with pencil marks, smearing the finger all over the black dust and then putting on it the sticky side of a cellotape, the way we used to do it in grade school.

And then we waited in yet another line (the third in the same room, with the security guards mostly explaining which line ends where and whom you should stand behind and trying to use the polls-and-ropes in the most clear way possible), for the final (and most important part) - the interview. This was the one part of the whole process that wasn't just bureaucracy changing hands. A girl that was a couple of places ahead of me in the line got her application rejected, in fact. The thing is, they want to make completely sure that you intend to only travel, take a visit, and not under any circumstances stay in the USA. They're looking for as many things as possible to prove that you have what to return for. That you have - in the way they phrased it - strong enough connections to Israel, to not stay (and, say, look for work illegally) anywhere else.

So I said that yes, I'm a PhD student, and yes, I'm in the middle of it, and in fact I just got my research proposal approved, and it happened so soon that I only now have the paper for it and I didn't get a chance to attach it to the whole application and would you like to see it? and no, I have no idea what I plan on doing once I finish. And I'm going to be in LA and NYC, and I'm going to visit friends (Hi, Allyson, that's you, with your name on the application form and everything!), and no, that friend isn't Israeli, she's a USA resident and was never here. And, no, I don't have relatives there, and yes, I would be delighted to leave my passport with you and get it back through my travel agent, hopefully with an approved visa.

And then I was out. All in all, an hour and a half of standing, and I was afraid it was going to be much worse (people told me about standing for days, but the line being so long that their turn didn't even get a chance to arrive on that day, and they had to return the following one and wait then, too). And the fact that they took my passport is a good sign, I was told. I mean, the poor girl who was told that her application was denied was told so on the spot. And I'm supposed to know in three days.

This is all becoming very real now. Deciding on dates and finding a ticket and making plans and all. Oh, my.

This is very exciting!

Nilly! Yay!!!!

Also, I love how you write. You should publish your story of the Embassy of Lines. Like:

A line to be proud of.

It was a line to tell stories about.

Really. Those are fantastic!

Heh.

I see they were preparing you for the US. Where our bureaucracy is even less efficient...!

And there are more lines which are less well managed...

I like the idea of the staff sitting around and wondering "Do you think that light is flattering the line? Maybe if we put it over there? No, that's not it. There?"

Nilly's one step (and several long lines) closer to being in the US!!!!

Yay!

Yay Nilly! My fingers are crossed for you.

This is very exciting!

Oh, yeah.

Thanks, Teppy. I amused myself through the wait with all these descriptions, so it's good to know I'm not the only one amused.

The Israeli version of bureaucracy is find somebody "on the inside" that you know, or that knows somebody that you know, and try to use that in order to push through the line. Either that, or just simply try to push through the line. Somebody seemed like he was trying to do something like that (on another booth, with a much shorter line - I think it was that of "Problems"), and it seemed like it failed quite loudly (most of the employees in the reception booths were not Israelis. The guards, however - all Israelis).

I like the idea of the staff sitting around and wondering "Do you think that light is flattering the line? Maybe if we put it over there? No, that's not it. There?"

I like ita's version.

And thanks, all, for being happy for me. I really appreciate it. Updates to follow.

That's a simply wonderful story. All embassies should be the sources of such stories.

The people at the embassy seem to be concerned most with the creation of lines, arranging them nicely, and once they're satisfied, moving them to some other place in the room, to see how they look in there.

Am I mistaken, or was Nilly almost slightly just-a-little sardonic there? America is already corrupting her!