I’m sitting here waiting for the phone to ring like a teenager waiting for her boyfriend to call. I, however, am waiting for the British Consulate to call.

The story thus far:

At the end of June, I called the Consulate to make sure that they had gotten my second visa application. To my delight, the woman on the phone actually managed to find me in her computer and tell me that my application was being processed, which would take a few more days. It was with a sense of relief that I hung up the phone. At least things were underway, I thought.

On the first of July I got a little envelope from the Consulate. Inside I found an “invitation" to attend an interview on August 1 (“THE EARLIEST POSSIBLE DATE,” as they made sure to state loud and clear on the “invitation"). I had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I was happy that the process was really really underway, and that they hadn’t just dismissed my application out of hand.

On the other hand, I have terrible fear of interviews, especially when it seems the whole future I have planned for myself is hanging on one interview. Will I have to justify my desire to move to England (“I like it there” just doesn’t seem to be very convincing)? Will I have to know what kind of shaving cream Jeremy uses (whatever is on sale)? What do they want from me? What if I can’t live up to whatever it is they’re looking for? What if they just don’t like the look of my face?

The other thing that caused me a bit of panic was other piece of paper in the envelope, which turned out to be a list of the extra documents I’m supposed to bring to the Consulate when I go. The list consisted of four items, one of which it took me a day to decipher because the handwriting was so bad, and one of which was so vague that I couldn’t begin to imagine what it was supposed to be (“Registration Certificate” - huh?).

So I knew that another call to the Consulate was in order - and seeing as I got the letter Saturday afternoon, I had all of Saturday night, all of Sunday, and all of Monday morning to brood over everything (and boy can I brood).

Monday I started calling the Consulate at one in the afternoon. At 2:30 - after being driven mad by the sound of the busy signal, after repeatedly slamming down the phone and ranting about how they should bloody well hire more people to work in that stupid office - I finally got to talk to a man who was very nice, and who gave me very easy answers to my questions, but who also didn’t seem to have so much of a clue, which made me not really trust what he was telling me. So I figured I’d call again in a few days to clarify things once and for all (because I’m not taking a train all the way to Düsseldorf only to show up there and find out that I’ve brought the wrong stuff).

Well, last Thursday I got another envelope from the Consulate. It had another “invitation" in it - only this one was for the 8th of August, not the first. There was nothing else in the envelope, no explanation, nothing saying, “Please ignore the previous invitation.” Much heavy sighing and shaking of the head took place on my part.

Friday I sat myself down in front of the phone and went through the usual routine. This time I talked to a woman who said she would transfer me to the woman who is handling my application. The first woman said that this second woman was very busy, so I would have to leave my reference number and phone number on her answering machine, and she would call me back.

It probably goes without saying that I left all this information on her machine, and then sat by the phone until 4 in the afternoon (when the visa section closes) waiting - in vain - for the phone to ring. Well, it did actually ring - numerous times - but it was never the visa woman (and I kept having to hurry people off the phone, because I didn’t want the visa woman to call and get a busy signal).

So it’s Monday again, and I waited for one o’clock again, and I called again, and I got the woman’s answering machine again, and I left a message again (this time I added that it was urgent), and now I’m waiting again. It’s been two hours since I called. The visa section is only open for another hour. I feel trapped in my house, I’m being stared down by this evil phone that refuses to ring, I’ve been all squished into the three short hours that the visa section is open every day and I am starting to go BATTY!

My parents keep saying, “Are you sure you want to move to this country?”

Hmmm…