Nightmare on Park Ave

                                                  The Italian Consulate

Yesterday I ventured to NYC to apply for my Italian student visa. This was a long awaited trip, and I was extremely anxious to get my visa and finally be done with it. However, my anxiety and tedious preparation ended up being completely useless. By the end of the day I still did not have my precious visa. Here is a rough timeline of my nightmarish day…

3:15 AM- Alarm goes off (not that it matters because I never really fell asleep).

7:20 AM- After a smooth flight with Chelsea Rein, we part ways in JFK, and I head off on my own to find my friend Richie.

8:30 AM- I follow signs and board several different trains to make my way to Penn Station. Upon arrival I am greeted by a stifling crowd of people, and a lot of soldiers with big guns and police dogs. Apparently this is relatively normal in NYC train stations at rush hour, but how’s a girl to know?

10:30 AM- After breakfast and a long conversation with my good friend Richie, we decide to arrive at the Consulate a bit early. We approach the building (there is barbed wire involved-this should have been my first warning). I find the visa entrance door, which is locked. Then a very stern sounding lady barks at me though an intercom speaker to “Come back at 11!”

10:59 AM- Following a very awkward half an hour of meandering around Park Ave, and poking our heads into stores like Prada and Gucci, I am back in front of the dreaded consulate door. Basically this is what happens…

·      I am led down to the dungeons and tortured. Meaning I am called into a room where I reorganize my paperwork according to their preference. Then my number is called and I present my paperwork to an official, who quickly shakes her head and asks me where my transcript and proof of housing are.

·      Firstly, at no point was I informed I needed these documents. Secondly, I do not have any way of knowing who my host family is yet=no proof of housing. 

·      Trying not to meltdown just yet as I plead my case and attempt to find a loophole. Result- no compromises. No loophole. Kicked out of the consulate.

·      They have my passport held hostage

11:50 AM- Poor Richie has been waiting outside for nearly an hour, and I stumble out and immediately commence the first of many meltdowns. I’m panicking, and I need to use the phone, but there’s nowhere quiet. I feel like a scared bunny with no den. Eventually we find a place, I call SLU, and eventually a plan develops.

12:15 PM- I’m back outside the consulate door, trying to keep my emotions in control. The scary lady wont let me back in the door, so I have to plead with her through the intercom thingy. She doesn’t let me get my proposition out, and wont stop barking. Conclusion- I’m not listening, I’m not special, and I have to come back another time. I am doomed. I am doomed. I am crying again. There’s no place to pee in NYC.

1:00 PM- Richie is a saint. We find a quieter café and further develop a plan that looks like this: I overnight the missing documents to Richie, give him everything else, and he will drop it off at the consulate. I’m on the phone with everyone; so many hoops need jumping through. I even have to write a letter to the registrar, take a picture of it on my phone, and text it to my dad’s email so he can send it to the right people.

2:00PM- I feel better with my plan in motion. My phone is about to die. Richie and I laugh like maniacs at the absurdity of our day.

2:30PM- We eat lunch at this really fancy restaurant, where we feel pretty underdressed and out of place. It’s just about as bad as browsing through Prada when everything you’re wearing is from H&M. Richie is keeping me sane.

5:00PM- Eventually I have to part ways with my beloved Richie, and I navigate the many trains back to JFK. I get through security about 4 hours early, find a place to plug my phone in and drink way too much coffee. I’m not entirely sure what happens for the next 4 hours.

12:00AM- On the plane, I sit next to a guy that tells me I am very beautiful. Apparently he likes zombies. The journey is finally over, and in the end I’m still not sure when or how I will get myself a visa. I still have faith that it will all work out, and it will all be worth the stress in the end.