Perspecia Anne Hasley

Soooo...I went to the Indian Consulate today to get my Visa. It was my third trip, the first two were in vain as the Consulate was closed. No reason, just...closed. Are you thinking that I should have checked the website to confirm the hours? Yeah, I did that. I've visited that site so often that I could recite the content to you verbatim but there would be no point; the webpage is wrong, wrong, wrong.

I finished yoga by 8:30 and, knowing that the consulate doesn't open until 9:30, almost stopped to relax over a cup of coffee but figured that getting there early to line up couldn't hurt. Arriving at the consulate, I noticed a sign "Line-up here prior to 8:30", however, it was now 9:00 and there was no line so I proceeded upstairs where the Consulate had wisely constructed a barrier hiding the waiting room to the right as you enter the room. I proceeded to the desk and picked up my number, E83, and turned the corner to find a chair.

Up to this point, I was blissfully unaware of the chaos awaiting me on the other side of the barrier. The consulate wasn't even open yet and there were hundreds of people before me. 283 to be exact. Although I was number E83, the waitlist started at letter C and each letter had 100 tickets so I wasn't really number E83, I was number 283. I returned to the counter to ask about drop off procedures, a process which was in no way as easy as it sounds, but I won't bore you.

As per the instructions, I left the consulate, found a post office to purchase a prepaid priority post envelope, found a TD Bank to get a money order, found a stationary store to find another envelope to hold everything else and raced back to the consulate feeling somewhat optimistic. This might just work out. Clearly, it's been several years since my last trip to India - I really should have known better.

If the waiting room was chaotic at 9:00 it was pure, unadulterated, chaos when I returned at 9:45. I mean 3rd class, unreserved Indian train chaos. Surveying the line, now stretching out the door and down the hall, I kept my "Oh HELL no" thoughts to myself and allowed my travel instincts to take over. Ignoring the line, I made my way to the front counter where I planted myself - legs spread, arms extended so as to deter others from shouldering their way in & steadfastedly ignored the waving hands thrust past my fact to request forms, tickets, and grab attention. I also made friends with the well-dressed man beside me as they often have a way of making things happen.

And we waited. We waited 55 minutes to 'drop off' our forms. I waited so long that I became the Q&A person in absence of the real Q&A guy who had scurried away 35 minutes ago to 'get her' (I think he was just actually running away - the mob was getting ugly). We waited so long that the man beside me reached behind the counter, grabbed the ticket roll and began distributing tickets, beginning again at letter C, effectively ensuring even more confusion when more than one person responded to the letter/number called. After 40 minutes of waiting, 'the lady' came, spent 20 minutes forcing us all to line up in a straight line while, at the same time, fielding questions from those who bypassed the line which only led to the dissolution of the line she'd worked so hard to build and we would begin again.

The clock was ticking, there was no way I was going to be on time for work, and I was desperate to get rid of my passport - this little blue book that I usually protect with my life I was desperate to give to someone, ANYONE. I held my place and when it was finally my turn, was told that everything I had done was wrong. Prepaid envelopes? We don't accept those, I can't help you. Drop off? We don't do that, "Go away". And by told I mean yelled - the lady hated me. No matter, I shouted other people down, waved my hands, shook my head & finally got permission to leave my passport behind for pickup next week. Success.

Walking from the Consulate to my car, smiling to myself, I allowed myself to feel excited for the first time. I'm going to India. It's going to be chaos like the consulate multiplied many times over - a constant battle of wits against systems that run in flagrant disregard to logic, reason and efficiency - I can't freaking wait. It was only when I got to work that I noticed the name the mean lady, ignoring my clear, block handwriting, had written on my receipt: Perspecia Anne Hasley - now THAT'S going to be a problem...