Visa not MasterCard

A few weeks ago, I began the confusing process of applying for a work visa.  I gathered the required documents, had them authenticated, and spent over $50 to FedEx them to Korea. Filling in the address of my school on the FedEx envelope was probably the most challenging part.  I was given three lines, but my address contained seven lines of information.  Unsure of what I was doing, I guessed my way through the whole thing and hoped for the best.  Luckily, it arrived safely only two days later.  

Once my school received the documents they forwarded them on to the embassy in Seoul. Within a few days I received a visa confirmation number via e-mail.  That number along with many more documents was to be sent to the nearest Korean embassy in the States.  

Of course mailing them would've been too easy.  They wanted me to come to the embassy for an in-person interview.  Perhaps they wanted to see how tall I really am.  At this point, I was already packing my things in Austin to head back to St. Louis.  There was no time to drive down to Houston (the nearest embassy for Texas).  It was going to have to wait until I arrived in St. Louis - the nearest embassy would then be Chicago.  As it so happened, I was planning on visiting a friend in Chicago that week so I called to set up my appointment for the same time.

Me:  "Am I required to come to Chicago for my visa interview?"

Embassy:  "Yes."

Me:  "Okay, well I'll be there next week from Wednesday through Friday..."

Embassy:  [cuts in] "We set up the interviews according to our schedule, not yours."

Me:  "Oh."

Embassy:  "One moment."  

A minute later

Embassy:  "We have an opening for you either next Wednesday or Friday morning."

Me:  [chuckle chuckle]  "Friday is good."

On Friday morning I took the train from my friend's apartment into downtown Chicago and made my way to the NBC Tower.  The embassy was on the 27th floor with a breathtaking view of Chicago's famous architecture.  I was shown into a room with 4 movie-style box offices.  Each one had a sign above written in Korean and English.  I located the visa sign and stood in line. As I listened to people speaking the Korean language, I wondered if I'd ever be able to understand any of it.  When it was my turn, I approached the window and handed my documents to the woman behind the glass.  She scanned them over, highlighted a line, and quickly handed them back with a new piece of paper.  I was told to have a seat and fill out the newest document. Once again, I had trouble fitting my address on the inadequate number of lines provided.

After turning in my papers again I was called in for my interview.  I wondered what questions they'd ask and worried I would provide the wrong answers.  I thought their questions might be similar to those asked by the personnel in customs.  "Did you carry your own bags? What is your nationality?  Do you have any explosives?"  Questions like those always make me nervous. What if I answer incorrectly on accident?  "No.  Missouri.  Yes."   

I took the seat across from a friendly-looking man at a small, round table.  He checked the pronunciation of my name.  Surprisingly, he said my last name correctly.  Then came the dreaded series of questions:

1.  Is your name German?  (yes)

2.  What is interior design?  (what I majored in, but have since taken a hiatus from)

3.  What are your future plans? (as if I even know)

That was it.  Three minutes after I sat down, I was finished.

I left the embassy, snapped a few pictures of the magnificent buildings, and walked to the train. The worst part of my trip was about to occur...

The train was packed due to an afternoon ball game and I was squished by dozens of excited Cubs fans.  If you're from St. Louis then you know what I mean.