Yes, I'm NOT a morning person, merci beaucoup

Any day that starts out with me waking up at 5AM is bound to be a bad one.

So what made me, Ms. Needs-3-alarm-clocks-and-hits-snooze-on-each-several-times, drag my ass out of bed at such an unholy hour? The French. The French embassy, to be more precise. My parents, my sister and I had to make a personal appearance for our Schengen visa application, for our trip to Europe in May. Based on the dizzying number of requirements our travel agent had us prepare, I was expecting a very thorough interview. I even made the effort to wear something nice, so as to make a good impression.

I shouldn't have bothered. First, they made us wait... in the parking basement of the building. There we were, seated on long benches, with no ventilation except for a small industrial fan blowing carbon monoxide fumes into our faces. THIS was the waiting area for a First World country's consulate? After some time, we were let into the building... but there was no semblance of order, and people who had arrived later than us but who dashed ahead managed to get served before us.

Remember, I woke up at FIVE.

When we got upstairs, we were made to wait some more in a room with rows of hard plastic chairs. When it was our turn at the counter, to my incredulous, sleep-deprived frustration, the guy behind the window didn't even bother asking for HALF the documents I had busted my butt obtaining for purposes of the visa application. He also asked very few questions, and barely glanced at all our faces (much less what we were wearing). Then he asked us to go back downstairs to photocopy the pages of our passports with old visas from other countries. So Hanks and I went, and then went back up. When I approached the counter with the photocopied pages and asked the guy politely (with as much politeness I could muster with the one Starbucks latte in me keeping my brain functions going) if I could give him the papers already, he snapped at me to go sit down and wait until he called us.

May I remind you again that I. Was. Up. At. Five. A. M.

So we had to wait some more while the snappish guy processed our papers. I hated myself for not bringing a book or a newspaper to read. I couldn't even talk much because for most of the time I was seated beside my mom and another woman who's part of our tour group, and they were chatting with one another. I had to twist around in my seat just to talk to my sister and dad. Then for some reason, the security guard walks over to us and tells us to keep our voices down. WTF!?! People around us were buzzing in conversation, but we exchange only a few sentences and we get reprimanded for being noisy?

I got out of bed at effing 5AM, goddammit!!!

By the time we got called to the counter again, it was already close to 10 (we had arrived a bit before 7, as per our travel agent's instructions). We were then informed that we wouldn't know if our visas would be approved (take note, not released, but APPROVED, meaning we could still be denied) until May 14. It didn't register on us until later (after another interminable wait for an elevator to bring us down to the lobby) that May 14 is Election Day and therefore a holiday, which means we'll probably get our visas on the 15th... and we're supposed to be leaving on the 17th. I'm not comfortable cutting it that close, but we really have no choice. Apparently, it takes even longer if you apply at the Spanish or Italian embassies. Rawr.

I know I shouldn't be bitching so much because a) I'm going to Europe, which is #3 on my list of things to do before I die; b) I'm not paying for anything; and c) I'm going to Europe!! But this spoiled little rich girl tantrum is not so much because I'm an insufferable ingrate, but because I have PMS, and oh yeah, did I mention I WOKE UP AT FIVE ON A MONDAY MORNING?

*stomps off in search of a cup of coffee, or a nap*