“Don’t Shoot… I’m an American!” Part Two

After my unsuccessful appointment and near death experience, at the American Embassy on January 29th; it was time again yesterday, to venture out into London and finally procure that invaluable raised stamp, that only a certified “US Notary” can render.

So up at 5:30, out of the house by 7:00, on the 7:32 train to London Victoria; arriving at 8:30. I made my way through the now, not so unfamiliar underground line, to Vauxhall Station. I even jumped on a London bus, and I found my way, once again, to the Embassy of the United States of America.

This time, we all agreed… I did in fact have a 9:30 appointment!!!

And just to be on the safe side, I had printed out the form, presented on the screen, at the end of the on-line appointment process; it said who, what, when, where and why!

I was prepared. I didn’t have a semi-automatic weapon, mind you, but nonetheless, I was prepared!

Ohhhh, and by the way, I learned, that the Embassy does NOT send out email confirmations, at least not for Notary Service appointments; so I don’t know what that snobby, American woman was flashing in my face, on her iPhone, a week ago when she strode past me, but “B, you better step back!”

It was all good, as I entered the small, building in front of the embassy… it felt like airport security (except without the planes and the excitement of an upcoming holiday) uniformed security men & women, an air of awkward seriousness, x-ray machines, conveyer belts, buckets to put your “stuff” in, and everyone being very, very quiet.

I have airport security down to a science, so I was good to go. With my arms held high above my head, I walked confidently through the metal detector and heard nothing… not a sound and that’s a good thing.

It wasn’t until the 12 year old, British man-boy, security officer, on the other side of the x-ray machine, held up my bag and said, “Who’s bag is this?”

“Ummm, mine?” I said hesitantly.

Him: “Do you have water in here?”

Me: “Yes.”

Him: “Well here… go ahead and take a sip now,” handing me my bag.

Me: “Umm, no, I’m good, thanks,”

Him: “No, you should drink it now.”

Me: “Ahhhh, I’m not really thirsty… I just finished a coffee, thanks.”

I am now looking around for the hidden Candid Cameras, as I’m sure someone is taking the piss.

Angry security lady next to young lad: “Drink it now, cause it’s going in the bin,” she says in a loud threatening voice.

Me: *thinking* “Wow! That was a bit unnecessary, wasn’t it?” …and now, of course, everyone is looking at me, like I’m the trouble maker!  

Me: In an equally loud threatening voice, because I’m on serious steroids and get “roid rage” at the drop of a hat: “I am not thirsty right now and if it’s going in the bin anyway, what the hell difference does it make? Here take it… ” while trying to hand her (or the guy) the bottle of water.

The room went deathly quiet and I felt the slightest bit nauseous.

Neither one of them would take the bottle from me; instead the woman pointed behind me and as I turned, I saw a bin about about 10 feet away. I walked to the bin to throw away a brand new, unopened £1.99 bottle of water, and muttered, “Well, I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, do I?”  

“Shit, did I actually say that?” I thought to myself….

Well, it’s a damn good thing the female security guard didn’t hear me, as I’m 100% sure she would have kicked my ass, just before calling in the guys with the semi-automatics!

Now why on earth would you communicate like that?

Could my pimple faced, young friend, not have just said, “Ma’am, you cant take the water in with you. So if you’d like, please go ahead and have some now and then we’re going to ask you to throw away the bottle.”

What the hell has happened to clear, precise communications?

Anyway… thank goodness, the rest of visit to the Embassy of the United States of America was uneventful. Go here, wait in line. Go there, wait in line. Go stand over there, wait in line. Bureaucracy at it’s finest.

I had to pay $50 dollars, for them verify, I am who I say I am, and to put a tiny, raised stamp on a piece of paper.

WTF?

Ohhhh, Wells Fargo Retirement Services, you have no freakin clue the pain and anguish you have caused me, the time and energy I have wasted on this and the money I have spent!!!! You have no idea, nor would you give a shit.

I must say I hope I do not have to go back to US Embassy in London any time soon, because if I do… it will be way too soon!

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