No one Sees the Wizard

For my slightly older sister and I, the annual airing of The Wizard of Oz (remember, young ones, this was before video!) brought infusions of terror, laughter, and song into our make-believe adventures.  Once a year, as Dorthy and her pals played out their heroic adventures in song and dance, my sister and I sat on the picnic quilt in our living room eating cheese popcorn (thanks Mom!) and soaking up every memorable and remembered moment.
 
For weeks after, we would re-enact  our favorite scenes.  Melanie, with her typical girl shoes and long, braid-ready hair played Dorothy.  My pixie-short hair and corrective shoes (we called them "dad' shoes) relgated me to all the male roles.  I don't recall anyone playing the Wicked Witch, but then, we were both so scared of her, we probably would not have dared to fill her shoes.   My hair remains short and straight, and I've exchanged my "dad" shoes for Birkenstocks, but I finally got to play Dorothy -- in my very own version of "No one sees the Wizard."

I arrived at the Spanish Consulate 20 minutes early for my visa appointment carrying all the requisite magic talismans -- Apostilles of the Hague, certified translations -- the works -- and all in triplicate, of course.  Twelve to fifteen people waited in three rows of plastic chairs, and two workers sat  behind three bank-teller style windows.  Signs taped to the walls repeated the Consulate's website mantra that the Consulate of Spain cannot accept cash, checks, or credit cards. All payments must be made using cashier's checks or money orders. An electronic gizmo announced in dotted red numbers that they were now serving number: 00.  A poster of the King and Queen looked on approvingly.   Finding no "take a number" thingy in sight, I tentatively approached the teller windows where I announced, through the glass divider, that I was there for my Visa ap --

 "We will call you."  the female voice behind the glass declared.  "Have a seat."

 I sat.
 
Everyone sat.  The people behind the glass bustled impressively.  They  called no names, and no one stood before their windows.  We sat. They bustled.  We exchanged looks.  New petitioners arrived and foolishly approached the windows. Reprimanded, they too sat.

Finally, another voice from beyond the glass muttered a name, and a lone petitioner approached the window.  Documents, questions, and answers slipped through the two-inch gap in the glass.  We all watched.  We overheard snippets -- "10 weeks . . . Copies . . . not approved . . . no guarantee . . ."  We watched with smug superiority as the uninitiated approached the window, smiled knowingly at the "Have a seat," command,and nodded in mutual confusion when the newly reprimanded said, "But I don't have an appointment . .  . I am just here to pick up my visa."

"Have a seat.  We will call you."  (No one sees the wizard!)

"How," one young lady asked me as she sat, "can they call me if they don't know my name?"  Maybe the Great and Powerful Oz knows who we are?

Like sibling rivals finding common ground in fear of the neighborhood bully, the sitters began airing their questions and sharing their stories with each other -- This one's going to Madrid; this one's been to Seville.  This one knows what an Apostille is, and this one needs her Visa by Monday (ha!).  Despite the bullies behind the glass, the would-be travelers in the waiting room developed a hopeful camaraderie. 
At long last, a mumble resembled my name, and I approached the window.  I slid my magic bundle of papers under the glass window toward the young man who began leafing through them in increasing confusion. He asked me for my driver's license.  I pushed it through the glass.

Finally, he asked, "What kind of a visa are you applying for?"

Really?
 
I explained that I had emailed the consulate and had been told I needed a Residencia visa.  I slid to him the check list from the website detailing the required documentation.  Happy for the  road map, the young man diligently read each piece of paper --- and I mean each piece of paper -- checked front and back, and checked each set of three off on the list I had given him.  Finally, he tapped the pile of papers into line, stood up, and without a word, took my papers back to the wizard.

I stood at the window.


Eventually, my minion returned, shaking his head in apparent confusion.  "Okay," he said, "You're just going to do a student Visa. You're traveling with students and doing what students do, so that's what you need. "

I wisely decided this was not the time to correct him -- I was neither traveling with students nor "doing what students do."  But without a visa, I was doing nothing, so I just smiled and nodded.


"Fill this out," he said, sliding my application back through the glass and indicating the information about the school I would be attending.  Without batting an eyelash, I promptly wrote myself in as a student at the International College of Seville.  Whatever works.  A flurry of papers followed that one;  I watched in silent surprise as my minion handed me documents that had cost me $20, $30, $50 not to mention hours of travel and countless sleepless nights.


"We don't need those anymore,"  he explained.  Excellent.


My minion had taken several trips back and forth to the wizard, and I had begun swaying from foot to foot, trying to relieve my aching legs, by the time he had papers in order for me and AJ.  But then, he found that my money orders were made for incorrect amounts -- silly me, prepared to pay for the visas they told me to get not the ones they decided to give me!  My cashier's checks were $14.95 over the amount he needed.

My suggestion that the consulate "keep the change" sent my minion  back to the wizard. Bribes  disguised as inadvertent over-payments clearly displeased the wizard.  My minion returned, sadly shaking his head.  I needed to get him a new cashier's check.  "

Take these back to your bank," he said.  "Get new checks."

"Okay," I said, but my bank is in Elgin.

"Okay. Just bring it back today. Okay?"  Sigh.


Three cash-station transactions later, (and $15.00 in bank fees later) I had two new money orders from the Currency Exchange -- the one on Monroe street with the printer that's out of alignment?  The  checks stated the correct amount, but the amount appeared on the "remit to" line, so I had written "Consulate of Spain" above that.

The minion took the check back to the wizard;  head shaking sadly, he returned.   "This is not good, " he said.  "It's on the wrong line."

I could feel a winged-monkey scream rising in my throat, so I gritted my teeth and said, "Give me the check."  The minion must have heard the same scream because although he shook his head sadly, he made no comment as I carefully lined through and initialed "Consulate of Spain" and then re-wrote the same words one eighth of an inch lower on the check.

He showed the check to the minion at the next window.  She raised her eyebrows and shoulders in a dramatic shrug apparently allowed my papers to move on to the wizard.  My minion smiled briefly and sent me on my way.

Next time, I am bringing that darned witch's broom with me!