The Anglo-Saxon Barbarians I

    This morning, I got up earlier. As you know, I am to return home on the first of September and there are issues to settle. One of these is the fact I posess a flight ticket hosted by the British Airways and I am to make a few hours break in London. In order to make this break, I need a transit visa for the UK.
    The wakie rang at seven of the clock and I got up timely. I did what everyone does at this time, pissed, took a shower, had a breakfast, paused to curse the sunless day, and left for whatever the duties awaited my attention.
    My first target was the embassy of the UK. I collected necessary forms and information last week and have filled the application forms lazily during the weekend. All I had to do today is turn everything in, and wait for whatever the luck might bring me.

    I came before the door of the visa section and silently prayed to Ruthia, the Goddess of Luck, to let all imaginable problems avoid me today.
   "Ruthia, I bow to you and beg for your attention. If you would let me finish this fast and painless, by any chance, I shall be thankful to the grave and beyond. Please hear your loyal servant and save him from the hassle, likely to appear in these places. "
    I allready have made enough bad expiriences when it comes to any kind of consular service and I knew that problems are likely, and nasty.
    Noone except me fancied the british govermental service today, so I didn't have to wait. I was called in, and I turned the application form and my passport to the lady in front of me.
   "Do you have your ticket with you, sir?"
   "No, I'm afraid I don't, my dear."
   "But, sir, you cannot apply for the direct airside transit visa without showing us your ticket."
    It happened. I don't believe it.
   "Ruthia, you didn't need to say no in such a cruel way!"
   "Excuse me, sir?"
    Now I had to lie, betray and battle, for I really didn't want to return here again. It costs me a lot of walk and a lot of sweat to reach these estates and I didn't fancy having to realise that my today's comming was for nothing.
   "My dear, of course I have no ticket. I have a clear itention not to buy the ticket until I have been issued that visa. Once I buy the ticket, I cannot ask for a refund incase I am unable to fly, for that's how it is with economy tickets. If you then refuse issuing me the transit visa, my funds shall only make your Queen's airline rich but shall not provide me any benefit."
   "And I must say that I can see nothing like a ticket on the list of required documents I got here during my last visit."
    She looked at the list, reading not more than a passport, a photo, the filled application form and the fee. The ticket was not on the list. She looked around, unsure what to say, then she responded:
   "We still need the ticket for the processing. We cannot be sure that you would travel on if there is no ticket to prove it. If you would please return another time with the ticket, sir!"
    It was perfectly clear that this was not a question, nor it was a proposal. It was the statement about how the things are. Either take it, or leave it.
   "Ruthia, you can be such a bitch at times!"
   "Excuse me, sir?"
    This woman had just told me that every traveller needs to first buy the ticket, and then simply forget abour the lost money incase he is refused a transit visa. She said it, and left no room for argue.
   "I beg for exchanging a word with Thor."
   "Who do you mean, sir?"
   "Thor, the God of the Thunder. And I wasn't asking you, my dear."
   "Are you OK, sir?"
   "Less than most prefer me to be, my dear, but certainly enough not to really answer the way I would love to. Maybe Thor would listen to my beg and act upon it to the better advantage than Ruthia did. Now I'll go and ask Thor for a favor."
   "What favor?"
    Silently, I thought:
   "To consider the destruction of your Queen's soil when he waves for the next thunder of his, my Dear. May England meet the fate of Atlantis soon enough for me to see and jump in joy on the shore of the rising sun. Then British airways would fly directly to Frankfurt, if there would be no London to stop in..."

    I didn't hear what did she say next, for I left the room and headed for the office. While leaving the english estates, I greeted the doorman:
   "God save us from the Queen."
    The man straightened and greeted back:
   "God save us... eh?"

    I don't know what did he think or say, if he looked after me or not. I just left, determined to pay them back if I ever a the chance, although knowing that was unlikely.