Le Jour du Consulat de France

We're back from the consulate in Houston. And, what a day it has been. After a night of insomnia I took an all too short cat nap before the alarm went off at 5 a.m. We left the house at 6 a.m. to get to the consulate in time for our 9:00 appointment. I am not going to name names, but somebody miscalculated how long it would take to get to Houston. "Somebody" estimated it would take three hours to get there and the GPS told us as soon as we put in the address that someone had underestimated and that it would take up three hours and forty five minutes to arrive at the consulate. Upon learning this I went a bit cooka-loo, all of the stress, anticipation and anxiety were unleashed with a mighty force onto my, uhem, driver. Yep, it was pas jolie.

I am sure you have seen it happen, you are driving a long and you see some people in a car who are in the midst of a heated conversation that would be better had in the privacy of their own home. Today we were that couple. But, the force of my shock and awe inspired the kind of driving that could qualify "someone" to get into the Nascar circuit. It turns out that a Prius can do 95 miles an hour all while getting 46 miles to the gallon. Good to know.

We arrived at the consulate at exactly 9 a.m. and it was nothing like I imagined. There was nothing very grand about the consulate, it felt more like an IRS office than the official outpost of the French government. There were no young women doing their consular duties in Dior. La Marseillaise was not playing in the background. And, instead of French antiques and chandeliers from Versailles the consulate was decorated in early Office Depot.

We walked into a waiting room that faced a bullet proof window with two women working at a very French pace; this room was the Visa office. We found seats and He-weasel pulled out his book and casually read; I shuffled through my papers nervously making sure that everything was there and that somehow in the drive between Austin and Houston some gremlin didn't sneak into my brief case and take out a vital document. Once I was assured that all was there I took a scan of my fellow visa applicants.

There was one girl waiting for a student visa---she was all hippy, and blond and beautiful behind her glasses and her college "I am too smart to care how I look" aesthetic. There were two Pakistanis who were getting Visa so they could travel to France for HP. They typed industriously on their dueling laptops as they waited for their visas that would allow them to fly from Dubai to Paris.

There was a very Eurochic guy with a Eurochic jacket, Eurochic jeans, and an enormous amount of Euroochic cologne. I enjoy some cologne, but I feel certain that Monsieur Eurochic had used the entire bottle. As I was rattled by my lack of sleep, the Misters Toad's Wild Drive that was our trip to the consulate and my own anxiety I came very close to pinching my nose or making the international gesture of "that stinks"; you know, the waving your hand up and down in front of your nose so as to fan away the offending odor. I however maintained my maturity and pushed away my desire to let Monsieur Eurochic know that I did not appreciate his overuse of Pee-Yew d'Armani.

One fellow visa applicant was a young guy who looked like Beck and spoke halting French. If he wasn't Beck I feel sure that he is a rock star of some variety, but as I no longer have MTV and am too old and tired to keep up with the music of today, I have no idea who he is. Ooh, makes me wonder if there is version of "Loser" in French. That might be fun to hear. Yes, when I am tired I am not as well able to edit my thoughts. Sorry for that. But, I did want to let you know how today went.

I got called by the consulate worker within ten minutes of arriving. She looked through my documents and realized that I was applying for Visas for both He-weasel and myself. Well, this meant we needed two copies of each document for both of us. We had made the mistake of thinking we could fill out two applications and then attach them to each packet of documents. Wrong!! So, this meant we got to go hunting for a Kinko's in Houston. After a half hour we found a Post Express/Mail Boxes R US kind of joint. They had one copy machine from the 1980's that didn't have fancy things like feeders or the ability to collate. A half an hour later we had made another set of copies.

When we got back to the consulate a whole new cast of characters with a desire to go to France had arrived. Gone were the Indian guys, the student and Monsieur Eurochic and in were a young South American couple; a Korean woman who was newly married to a guy from Martinique; a blond flight attendant with her incredibly cute and extroverted blond baby, who looked like a mini-surfer, and who smiled flirtatiously with every women in the place. I was smitten. I tried to get He-weasel to enjoy the cuteness of the baby but he is not one for enjoying random children like I am. He needs to know them for a bit before he falls in love like I do. Oh, and there was a woman of Eastern European descent who scowled at everyone who entered the room as if they were directly responsible for her having to wait. I felt a kind of glee as my name was called before the scowling lady, I knew it would piss her off that I was called before her as in her mind she had arrived there before I did. I am not at all proud of my pettiness.

The consulate worker was wearing a really lovely top that I honest and truly liked and I would have liked to ask her where she got it---but I resisted, I didn't want to seem like I was sucking up to her through compliments. The lady in the pretty top silently looked through our applications until she would occasionally lose a document and I had to tell her where she had put it. And, there was a bit of confusion about our letter from the banker and the make shift bank records he had given us. If there is any snafu to all of this it will be because of that. However, after I explained everything and gave her another document proving that we were financially able to go to France she seemed satisfied. We paid our $310.00 and she took all the paperwork I have worked so hard to acquire. And, she took our passports. Gasp! We cannot travel until we get the visa and that will not be for four to six weeks. As I brought a prepaid FedEx envelope we will not have to go back to Houston to get our visas.

She asked if we would like a receipt. I said we would. She sent us back to our seats and then we waited some more. 20 minutes later we had our receipts. It was on the way down to the car that I started to feel the twinge. It is a twinge I have had before. I felt a pain in my lower back to the far right side. The last time I had this kind of pain it was a kidney stone and I spent two days in the hospital. I hope that is not what this is.

We stopped at a cafe', in our mind that meant we could get a salad or sandwich---well not in Texas. In Texas a cafe', a bistro, or even a pancake house may all be another name for a Mexican restaurant. He-weasel and I made up over strawberry lemonades. He enjoyed his enchiladas while I worried over my quesadilla. I had all manner of "what ifs" dancing in my head. What if they don't give us the visa? What if we have to go to the consulate in L.A.? What if they separate our applications and only FedEx us one of the visas? What if, what if, what if...?

By the time we got in the car to drive back to Austin I was too tired and too sore to continue with the what ifs. And, now that that I am home and have had some Advil's I am feeling better. I think with a nap I will feel even better still. Je vais prendre un somme. Is that right? Well, even if it isn't I am too tired to care.