The Home Office has our passports again.
After an excruciating early summer- one involving a death in the very very immediate family, for those of you who might not read me regularly- I rushed around. I rushed from my mother's apartment, full of memories and dusty junk and practical considerations, to get home to the UK. I really wanted to see my family, my tight, reliable little love generators; also we had to get our passport Visas renewed. In the interest of timeliness and the mad crunch of the calendar, we decided to postpone the memorial service so that I could do that rushing I mentioned and we could send in our passports like good little US Nationals and get them renewed and then go back to the US with only the regular amount of tension about when to return because of work and school blah blah.
When I say "rushing," I should clarify that it wasn't very urgent. I was mostly sitting around eating my way through the pie or goulash or pitcher of Manhattans (note: never think of a pitcher of Manhattans as food. Just...don't. Think of it as what it is, which is tasty, tasty poison.) Mom had died and there were phone calls galore, but other than that and showering, I had plenty of time to wash my clothes and pack. But being in that literal post-mortem is a little like being stoned, in that everything in the world is going along at the regular pace but your brain is plodding, gooped up in bullshit about getting certificates and getting in touch and getting a bunch of movies at Barnes & Noble for a really good price. (My sister and I, after eating an entire pitcher of margaritas together, tripped into that local BookDonald's where we found an amazing amount of movies that we realized, in tandem, that we LOVED and had to have immediately. I can highly recommend a light spending spree during that kind of slow-motion grief. Really soothes the soul, for exactly four minutes, which means it was worth every penny.)
And I got home, and I slept a bit, and I had a sandwich. And then my hubby and I filled out the form and I sent it in all speedy-extra, and waited a week or so, wondering. We had a month. Then last week he got a letter that said basically this:
Dear Visa Applicant,
We have received your paperwork. We have your cheque for the inordinate amount of money We must have for the processing of your application. We shall put that cheque in the bank and watch for the bounce. IF IT BOUNCES OR IF WE JUST DO NOT LIKE THE LOOK ON ITS' FACE AND DECIDE TO HAVE A PROBLEM WITH IT, WE SHALL LET YOU KNOW. Via the regular mail. Sure, we asked for your email address and alternate email address and home phone number and work and mobile and every other number where you might be reached by phone....What of it?
We will pass it along after that.
Oh, and We may wish you to visit a post office and have some data taken again, for no discernible reason. What of it? If we do We shall notify you, in writing, through the Royal Mail, We're afraid.
We shall pass it along after that.
And one might wish to...postpone things. One might wish to delay one's holiday, or long automobile trip to the sea or the mountains or the places that produce comestibles, or one's long-postponed trip to one's ailing Nana. One may be wise to remain where one is, at one's home rather than engaged in any travel, in case We should wish to get in touch with one. We may wish to do this, We're afraid.
We intend to pass it along immediately after We decide to contact you, or rather not. It's up to us, We're afraid.
One cannot reach Us through any means of communication on this great Earth, be it through email or telephone or carrier pigeon. One should not try as it should be futile. However, should one need most urgently to reach Us, one might refer to a page on our website that leads you, through a clever and hilarious series of links, to a form that may or may not compel Us to return your passports and applications untouched by Home Office hands; thereafter one may re-apply. What jolly fun! We make no mention of what will happen to your money should you do this.
Ta-ta,
The Home Office, UK Visas and Immigration
So we had a mini-panic, but then rationalized that it was still weeks away, and we'd done everything by the letter, and our pictures taken at the Tesco picture booths were hideous in just the right passport-y sort of way, and our fingerprints were intact, and our bank balance was hardy enough to stand the nuclear first strike that would constitute the cheque's clearance. All was well, for the moment. A week later, we recieved another letter, and it said basically this:
Dearest Visa Applicants,
Do you remember when We informed you that We might require additional information that could only be obtained through certain branches of our post office? No? We will wait while you reaquaint yourselves with this instruction.
We thought not.
We at the Home Office should like to invite you to visit one of these post office branches- and here We must pause to inform you that you must bring more currency, and it must be in cash form- no, We do not joke about money (see first letter, paragraph I)- and have your picture taken, among other things.
Did We not like the pictures you sent with the application, as specified? No, We did not. We thought they were tacky. Or overexposed. We could tell you had them taken at the Tesco identification photo booth.
Once you and your family have appeared and handed over your fistful of coin and had your pictures taken with proper identification picture cameras, We shall surely pass along your application for perusal.
We at the Home Office also wish to inform you that you do not rate a sign-off.
PS After the above is completed, your Visas could be on your way in as little as eight weeks! Though perhaps not...We remain unconvinced. -H.O.
...Now THIS- this one rated a full-blown panic. We had three weeks at that point. So we sprang into testy, A-Type action, and got the thing done in less than 24 hours. The next day I wrote a letter to them. I'd called some harried woman at the actual Home Office once I finally found a phone number to call that didn't automatically connect me with a recording of a man with a Royal Shakespeare Company Voice saying "YOU wish to speak with one of US?? Preposterous! Away with you, maggot!...YOU wish to speak with one of US?? Preposterous! Away (etc)!..." The harried woman gave me an actual address to an actual building that contained people; moreover, they were poeple who would be handling our application! My letter said basically this:
Listen, Home Office:
I appreciate you have a little business here. I appreciate that it's a lovely little racket, and to keep it going you have to give everyone the illusion that you are both extremely busy and extremely mean. Thugs are thugs, and their methods differ only in the embellishments they use to decorate their brands of intimidation.
But, seriously: re application #YouKnowMyNameLookUpTheNumber, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??? MY MOTHER DIED. SHE DIED AND I CAME BACK HERE TO SEND YOU MY BLOOD AND ALMOST ALL OF MY MONEY SO THAT I COULD GO HOME AND ATTEND HER MEMORIAL SERVICE, YOU VAMPIRIC BUREAUCRAT CREEPS!!
Give us our Visas. Keep your money for buying your heroin or your viable human kidneys or whatever it is you need that much damn money for, but SEND US OUR PASSPORTS WITH OUR UPDATED VISAS RIGHT IN THEM. you assholes. OH MY GOD.
If you don't send us our updated Visas I will personally go piss on the graves of every one of your publicly buried Monarchs. Then I will throw my urine on each one of your living Royals, starting with little Prince George and working my way right up to the Queen Herself, so help me. You do not threaten an American with institutionalized laziness- and that's exactly what it is, you fuck-nuts- and not expect a tsunami of urine-throwing. America teaches the rest of the world how to be gross. Do not test us on this. The entire British Isles do not have enough soap to wash away the piss that will cover your nation if I do not get what I want.
With Utmost Sincerity,
Me
PS Get bent.
....Perhaps it was a bit too rage-filled. And I did not send that letter; I sent a moderately desperate please-Sir-may-I-have-another entreaty instead, since we were working with such little time. It would do none of us any good- and it certainly wouldn't get me to my Mom's service any faster- if we were abruptly put on a no-fly list right before the event was to take place. So we're waiting, like patient little ducks.
If you're of the persuasion, send us thoughts of expedition and efficiency, or just calming white light. Prayers are fine too, it can't hurt. This could get pretty traumatic, and very, very stinky.
Love to all.
