visa denied & seven bad words
Nikki, Sage and I are leaving for the US next month, to spend some time in devasted Florida with a possible side trip to New York (to meet a client, visit my sister, and see a play).
We were hoping to take Sage's yaya with us. She and Nikki spent a lot of time, effort and money getting all the requisite documents, all in preparation for the dread visa interview at the US embassy today.
Well, the answer was a "no", which means that the Alfars have to travel as a nuclear family again. We must have given offerings to the wrong anitos; it seems everyone did, since the lady at that counter had consistently denied everyone who was unfornate enough to be assessed by her.
Gah. I feel harsh invectives about to explode all over this page, all destined to be hurled against the insensitive twit who denied our nanny her visa (you know, like the Seven Words That Cannot Be Spoken On Television Ever: Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and, oddly, Tits - and I don't even need to lift a creative finger to use them all in one blistering tirade). But I'll control myself and just move on.
The last time we did this, Sage was not even a year old, and it wasn't so bad (Nikki and I only gave in guiltily during a local flight from New York to Las Vegas and gave Sage sleep-inducing medicine). This time, Sage is 2 years and 8 months old, able to reason and argue and insist on her way, and frankly, I'm terrified.
She'll have her own seat, but given my temperament plus the enclosed environment plus all the time in the air... It does not bode well.
I need to exercise Daddy Patience, I know. But I just was at a different line when the angels were handing out those virtues.
Of course, I could be overreacting to this development. But then again, that's the playwright in me, always looking for scenarios, always weighing things in terms of dramatic potential.
Gah.
Stupid embassy.
We were hoping to take Sage's yaya with us. She and Nikki spent a lot of time, effort and money getting all the requisite documents, all in preparation for the dread visa interview at the US embassy today.
Well, the answer was a "no", which means that the Alfars have to travel as a nuclear family again. We must have given offerings to the wrong anitos; it seems everyone did, since the lady at that counter had consistently denied everyone who was unfornate enough to be assessed by her.
Gah. I feel harsh invectives about to explode all over this page, all destined to be hurled against the insensitive twit who denied our nanny her visa (you know, like the Seven Words That Cannot Be Spoken On Television Ever: Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker and, oddly, Tits - and I don't even need to lift a creative finger to use them all in one blistering tirade). But I'll control myself and just move on.
The last time we did this, Sage was not even a year old, and it wasn't so bad (Nikki and I only gave in guiltily during a local flight from New York to Las Vegas and gave Sage sleep-inducing medicine). This time, Sage is 2 years and 8 months old, able to reason and argue and insist on her way, and frankly, I'm terrified.
She'll have her own seat, but given my temperament plus the enclosed environment plus all the time in the air... It does not bode well.
I need to exercise Daddy Patience, I know. But I just was at a different line when the angels were handing out those virtues.
Of course, I could be overreacting to this development. But then again, that's the playwright in me, always looking for scenarios, always weighing things in terms of dramatic potential.
Gah.
Stupid embassy.
posted by Dean at
1:32 PM
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