Applying for a visa. This sounds like a whole barrel of monkeys’ kind of fun, right? Of course not. It was possibly the most stressful application process of my life. I mean, getting into North Central was easier and required less effort than this. (Not that I picked my school because they didn't require an essay with the application. I would never do such a thing out of laziness… Anywho!) I started looking at all of my visa requirements with plenty of time to spare. My appointment was on Friday. I opened my email on Monday. Perfectly logical! Except that they want your entire life story on a felt board like in Sunday school. Which I always thought was brilliant. They were pieces of paper that stuck without sticky things! But I digress.
The requirements to obtain a Spanish visa, which is a part
of the Schengen zone (apparently according to my research), and expansive and
vary greatly from one consulate to the next. So I, being completely freaked out
and paranoid, decided to obtain ALL THE DOCUMENTS!!!! This, in hindsight,
wasn’t a bad plan after all. I panicked at my time frame, since I was to leave
for Naperville the very next day, and simultaneously inconvenienced my dear
loving parents. I had my mother set up a last minute physical so that my doctor
could say that I am “Physically and mentally well and able to travel” which is
only about half true. I also had to have my father go to the bank to get a
money order, and to the post office so that they could notarize a statement
saying that he will give me $1000 a month to live in Spain (Best piece of paper
that I have ever owned!). All in less
than 24 hours notice. Did I get all of this done in time? Yes. Did it make my
mother have a spaz attack? Pretty much. Did I need all of those documents?
Nope.
This is the beauteous part of the Spanish consulate. They
say you need all of these things…4 passport photos, bank statements, color
copies of every piece of paper in your filing cabinet. But really all they want
is your forms and your money. I gave the man at the counter probably a third of
the papers I had in my folder for my application. Which I was okay with, it is
totally better than getting there and having the man behind the counter go,
“Passport?” and you go “…riiiiiiiiight…” However, I had a traumatic experience
that was almost that bad. My story goes a little something like this:
I get into Chicago at about 10:55 and decide to take a cab
so that I get to my 11:30 appointment with plenty of time to spare. I lucked
out with a driver who didn’t care about my life story and knew that I probably
didn’t care about his. I discover on my way there, that my planner says 11:40,
and I had much more time than I thought I would. (Sweet!) So I get to the
consulate, which mostly just looks like a post office, and start talking to
some of the other people studying abroad. When it gets to my turn at the 11:40
slot, actually about 12:00 at that point, I step up to the counter. I give the
man my passport and he looks up my name. “That’s strange, your name isn’t in
the system” My heart feels like it’s dropping all fifteen stories onto Michigan
Avenue. “I’ll try looking it up again” I
try to convince myself he spelled my name wrong. “Are you sure you had an
appointment today?” “I’m absolutely positive, I wrote it in every planner and
on every piece of paper I have” Okay, so a bit of hyperbole, but still.
Really?! I was about to burst into tears or take a chair and smash the window,
because basically my life was over. “Can I see your forms?” What the hell is
this guy getting at? Does he really want to torture me this much? “Okay and
your ID. Okay, I’ll take your letter of acceptance.” And that’s when I figured
out…he’s going to let me do it anyway! Oh heaven, and angels, and Eric Clapton!
I got all of my papers that he needed turned in and he told me, “Come back in a
month to pick up your visa.” I CAN GET MY VISA!!! I practically skip out of the
building with relief and a new sense of freedom.
And then I ask myself. “’Come back in a month’? What is that
supposed to mean?!”
