Encounter with the U.S. Embassy in Buenos Aires

This is actually a pic of the Cemetery (not the Embassy), but close enough for our Argentinian friends who were miserable in line.

My passport, being half filled with Canadian stamps (I used to work in Alberta), was becoming low on blank pages (the pivotal possession, second only to toilet paper in terms of necessity).  Since our BA apartment is only eight blocks from the embassy, I decided to test my luck and see if I couldn’t obtain more pages.  I arrived at the uncivilized hour (per BA standards) of 9AM and saw the equivalent queueing of Six Flags on a bad day.  “Seriously,” I grumbled with frustration, eyes starting to roll at the circuitous queue.  

With my sweetest Midwestern country girl expression, I asked “I’m a U.S. citizen, do I need to wait in line?” [cute pouting gaze].

“Of course not,” the guard cheerfully responded and escorted me to the front of the line.  [2,000 angry Argentinian scowls directed at me].  

Behind a two-way mirror - he could see me but I couldn’t see him in an oh so very post-9/11 way - I tried the same line and the doorman took me inside to the front of the security screening line.  Picture: local airport security line as everyone awaits the metal detector to validate their non-terrorist intentions.  500 people questioned why I was now at the front.  I proceeded down an outdoor corridor, in every room I passed hundreds, no thousands, of adults awaiting a U.S. visa.  My destination had 15 counters (I’d rather be in the San Francisco DMV on its worst day).  Picture: disgruntled people clutching their paperwork and frowning.   To my surprise, counter 15 had no wait - but it did have a nice American flag hanging over it.  The smiling worker took my pages request and asked me to pay $82 to the cashier.  Surely I would be postponed behind the hundreds waiting for the cashier.  I barely sat down before my number was called (praise to America!) and more glaring locals eyed me.  Needless to say the thousands who had taken off work to sit at the dreary embassy were not a joyful sight, but I was in and out with my new pages in 15 minutes.  

If you thinks me a spoiled brat, you’ll be reminded that I too endured the visa drudgery at Brazilian and Indian embassies, to name a few.