It all started with a pair of khaki pants I've bought at the Marshalls department store recently. I am a short guy, and the pants were about five inches longer than what I would consider to be wearable. No problem, my neighbor next door does alterations for living, and this kind would probably run me down by eight bucks. Turns out, she retired. So I took the pants to another tailor only to find out that it would cost twenty five bucks to make them shorter and he keeps the clippings.
At this point, I said no. I'm not paying $25 for fixing $19 pants. This is surreal. As part of survival in this economy, I do my haircuts myself and I will do my wife's haircuts as well as soon as seductive medicine becomes cheaper. So I went out and bought a nice Kenmore sewing machine, learned how to sew, and fitted my pants in five and a half minutes. No sweat.
This was probably my mistake that I wore those pants when I went to the Russian Consulate to find out what was going on with my entry visa. Please don't bother to comment on mistakes of going there at all, I had invented all your comments before you wrote them.
Now, please imagine a photographic tripod laying on the ground. This is how approaches to the Russian Consulate look when you see them from the skies. The North Lane is for visas, the South Lane is for passports and other issues, the Central Lane is for people who think they have priority. All lanes are separated by cast iron prison-like grates or cages so that visitors should feel like at home.
I took the North Lane, for visas. I waited for two hours before a battle erupted. During a fight in which I had to confront a nice Chinese lady, a nice gentlemen, two nice Russian killer-looking teenagers, and a nice and a very aggressive senior citizen who wanted to use a bathroom, my wife somehow sneaked into the Russian Territory. And then the grill shut close. First I just waited then I thought they had internal lanes for internal customers then I started to worry then I was hoping they sent her to Siberia. I only wished she had her mother with her.
At sharply 1:00pm, the Russian Consulate began spitting out people very efficiently. Lunch time, and many, many Americans found themselves on the street. My wife was unfortunately let go and informed me that our visa problem could not be resolved until we prove to the Russian Government that we are not Russian Citizens. And this can be fixed by submitting something like a "take me off your list" form for a nominal fee of $65.
It took me some time to realize that now I'm not eligible for neither the North Lane nor the Central Lane. By this time, the South Lane's list had twenty entries, and I was lucky to enroll as the twenty first. I don't know what to say, never won a blackjack round in my life.
So, it's almost 3pm, and there are twenty contenders in front of me, and the Consulate swallows about one and a quarter an hour, so I think I'd rather get out of here now before the rush hour traffic starts. I get home, and this mother in law of mine who destroys things just by not thinking about them, leaves the porch door open.
Regardless, I have to walk Pepper, my daughters' new puppy. He sees the open door and runs away. I'm trying to save him from an incoming car, running, falling down, ruining my new pants. Unbelievable.