Applying for a French Visa

It was exactly like I had expected.

A ten foot, barbed wire fence surrounded a black, tall, sleek office building in downtown San Francisco. The only portal of entry was a glass door that reflected my image.

There was no telling how I was to enter this fortress.

At 2 PM, my appointment time, the door began to crank, as though someone was opening a draw bridge. Then a loud bang as the 3 inch deadbolt rammed open.

Silence.

I waited for a moment before I tugged on the door. I could feel the humid grime on the handle of past visitors.

The door inched open.

I stepped inside a small vestibule to a barred window that reminded me of a bank in the Wild West.

The door which I had entered shut automatically.

A forceful voice came over the intercom system, “Présentez-vous.” My heart pounded as I scrambled to speak French. I muttered some words here and there, afraid that I was about to misspeak myself into danger. I must have said something right because I was told to proceed through the metal detector into a vast, white room.

There was only a single, blue chair sitting in the middle of the room.

I took a seat.

I was shielded by my backpack which was stuffed with documents that I was about to present to some czar, or baron, or overlord…I wasn’t quite sure who I was to meet.

The lights shut so fast I couldn’t tell if it was dark or light. A single spot light shined on my head. It must have been near, nearer than I had noticed when the lights were on, because I could feel the heat of the lamp on my hair. I began to sweat profusely. I could feel the sweat trickle down from my armpits. I got nervous, very nervous.

When I began answering the rapid fire questions in French I spotted a solider standing in the corner with a rifle cocked in his hands. He glared at me with the one visible eye from under his beret. I tried so hard to stay focused on what the man without the rifle was asking me…trying not to answer falsely, or worse, mistakenly admit to something illegal because of my language barrier.

After having my fingerprints and mug shot taken I must have fainted or something.

The next thing I knew I was back out on Bush Street hunched over on all fours with a goose egg and a splitting head ache to match.

My visa application had been submitted to the French Consulate. Now I must wait for five to six business days for an official, French delegate to arrive at my home, hopefully, with my visa in hand.

…Ok, so the day didn’t go exactly like this, but it sure as hell felt like it!

Visa application has been submitted…now I need to wait for five to six business days for the visa’s arrival – that part was true, but via FedEx, not by a French courier.