Journey to America: The Embassy

August 15, 2024

Well. How do I even begin to describe my trip to America? I guess in detail.

Visa requirements are taken very seriously by Americans. You really need to check the appropriate rules and procedures on the Embassy’s website and follow their guidelines to the letter. I went through the process back in 2016, so I had a pretty good idea of what it all looked like — but, of course, I didn’t remember exactly what the steps were. Still, I somehow managed to file the application for the appointment, paid the application fee, and started preparing for it.

Sometimes I wonder how much money Georgians have paid to the U.S. Embassy over the past 30+ years, only to get rejected — and how that compares to the financial aid we’ve received from the U.S. since gaining independence. Probably a worthy research project for someone.

Anyway, yesterday, the day before my appointment, I sent all the documents to be printed. There was one that I didn’t print out. I remember clearly thinking I should print everything — just in case — but for some reason, I didn’t. Of course, this was going to be a problem later.

So this morning, August 15, I showed up at the Embassy for my appointment. The U.S. Embassy in Georgia is located right at the entrance of the capital, Tbilisi. It was a sunny day, middle of August — I was sweating. The heat would’ve been unbearable if not for the fact that the appointment was early — 08:45 a.m. I remember standing right in front of a famous Georgian actress — the one who played that cool, aristocratic woman in Girlfriends of My Wife. I had this stupid self-deprecating joke come to mind — like, even she has to stand in line at the Embassy? But it was one of those jokes no one would laugh at, so I wisely stayed quiet.

I stood in line for about 30 minutes, and finally, we were let into the building. When my turn came, the woman behind the thick glass asked me to present my passport and the front page of the document with the barcode. I told her I didn’t have that specific document, but I had another one that contained all the necessary information she needed.

She looked at me and said, “If you don’t have the document, then move away and let the next person come.”I almost started crying. I told her I didn’t know that page had to be printed. She replied that all the information was on the website and that I should have read everything carefully.

I’ve never understood what makes these people speak in such an inquisitorial tone. I mean — if I don’t get a visa, I don’t get a visa. It’s not a crime. I guess it was the look on my face — probably on the verge of tears — that made her pause. Then she said that if I could print the document out somewhere and come back in time, she’d still accept me.

I didn’t hesitate. I left the queue immediately and went back to the security checkpoint. I explained what had happened and asked if they could help me print the document. Of course, they said no — it was impossible, given how their computers are programmed. But they told me to go outside and find a place with a computer and printer, maybe in the nearby shopping center. Clearly, I wasn’t the first person to run into this problem.

There’s a large shopping center next to the Embassy — it sells everything from electronics to construction materials. In fact, I had bought materials there a few months ago and assembled a pretty decent table for my house. I ran toward the store and entered the first appliance shop, just left of the entrance. A girl working there graciously let me use her computer, but for some reason, I couldn’t log into Gmail to download and print the document. In those moments, you just can’t remember your passwords, and the stored passwords almost never work when you need them. Eventually, I gave up.

The girl told me to go to the front desk. I don’t even remember how I managed to get the document into my email at that point, but apparently, I did — and the girl at the front desk printed it out for me. In about 10 minutes or so, I was back at the Embassy, back in line, and somehow, my hopes of getting to the U.S. on time were still alive.

Because here’s the real problem: if I missed today’s appointment, the next one would be sometime in mid-October. That would’ve made me ineligible to take classes this semester — and I wouldn’t be able to start my JSD studies.

So I stood in line again. There were a few people ahead of me. I got the sense they were hoping to find low-income work in America — maybe as delivery drivers, taxi drivers, or in other service roles. Everyone has their own version of the American dream. They hardly spoke any English and looked like ordinary working people. I watched two or three of them get rejected right in front of me.

When I finally stepped forward, the man behind the glass asked me if I had a scholarship — which, to me, was a clear sign of approval. I said yes. He saw that I was a student and had secured funding through a scholarship — and that was all he needed. Just like that, I got the visa.

But — of course — not without one more issue.

He told me my passport photo was rejected. I needed to take another one and return it through the security desk. I asked what kind of photo he needed, and — you guessed it — he coldly referred me back to the website. I accepted the instruction immediately, didn’t argue. This was clearly one of those moments where talking too much could cost you the whole thing. These people are strict.

So I left the queue again and went outside to find a photo studio. I didn’t know where to go, but the security guards helped me out — again. They told me that near the Embassy, toward the Gldani district — near a subway station, a bazaar, and a bus station — there was a photo studio that regularly takes Embassy photos.

I got into a taxi and went straight there. It was still hot, but at that point, I felt nothing. That feeling of victory — that everything had more or less worked out — gave me just enough energy to power through the rest of the mess.

When I got there, I asked for directions to the studio. The woman already knew exactly what kind of photo I needed for the Embassy. She took the picture and printed it quickly. I returned to the Embassy, gave the photo to the security staff, and double-checked with them that it met the formal requirements. They said it did.

Confident that the photo would be delivered to the necessary visa department, I finally left the Embassy and went home.

Exhausted. But relieved.