VISA, Versa.

Now that I'm within the three month window of leaving the U.S., I'm in the process of applying for my visa.

Last week I filled out a very extensive online form, which asks some too-personal questions, and certain questions which no one really knows the answers to.--It's important that the British consulate knows where you went to school when you were eleven-years-old.

So after filling out all of these forms I get a date to go to the Immigration Office in St. Albans, Vt. Date set for Friday the 13th at 13:00--I'm by no means superstitious, so this hardly phased me.

I've been dreaming of this office looking like a modern day Ellis Island, lines and lines of people waiting for green cards, officials Americanizing names to their liking, grumpy older men forcing you through a metal detector, sterile back rooms where people are searched.

My dreams were crushed. I drove up to a very new looking one story brick building, five minutes late and already assuming that because of my tardiness I will never be able to leave the country of stars and stripes. I was one of two cars in the parking lot--still thinking to myself how all the masses inside got there--they must have bussed them in.

To my dismay there were no crying babies, no drug sniffing dogs--just one slightly grumpy middle-aged man who met me outside the building to ask what business I had being there. I walked in and through the metal detector with no problems. Finally 35 seconds later I was escorted into a back room where a sweet lady in her mid to late 30's told me she was going to take my "biometrics" and said, "Honey, you can place your paper work over here, I promise it will be safe."

Well, Ms. Sweetie took me over to a machine with red lights that took my finger prints and then took a mildly absurd looking digital photo of my face. She explained that they do this as a favor to the British consulate in New York, and I told her how nice that was of "them". All I could really think is that Bush made this deal with them so that they would enter Iraq--I'm sure it's less complicated than that.

All in all, I was in and out in 7 minutes without being degraded, strip searched.

A disappointment.

To the Immigration Office in St. Albans: you did not entertain all of my hopes and dreams.