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I braced myself for a whole morning of waiting at the Consulate. As usual, we entered and explained what we needed, and were greeted with a curt “Take a seat.” No indication of when, who or how the matter would be taken care of. Fifteen minutes passed, a half hour. Sebastian, our son, was hungry. I took him out and went up the street to one of those corner groceries with inch-thick plexiglass in front of the cash register area, where two Korean men sat flanked by cigarrettes, candies, rolling papers, and other stuff that could easily fit into someone’s pockets. We got a bag of potato chips and walked back to the consulate.
By then, they had attended to Maria and our stacks of paper were behind the desk being worked on. I had to go outside again with the kids, waited another twenty minutes in the car, and Maria came out, everything in hand. Another, and almost the last of, all the events leading up to the move, off without a hitch.