Coffee and Visa

Coffee and Visa

Instead of logging into GG Client, I opted to open a blank document and write something nice. I also thought about watching the movies I downloaded over the weekend. My new internet service provider allows me to download a lot of content because of insane download speeds. I should be thankful for that, I suppose. I am looking at the clock with heavy feeling, just a few hours before bedtime and another few hours before I lock myself in a building. And instead of writing something nice for my friends (you, the readers), I fear that I am about to whine.

For the past four months, my life has become another routine indulging in daily chores and a playground for self centered co-workers. I realized that you can land on so many jobs, but they are all the same – dream jobs don’t exist, at least for me. Simply after the first day fervor on your hot new job, you meet people who think the world revolves around them. Not long after, you go into the midway saturation. And finally when you grow tired of being a good dog, (ass-kissing son of a bitch) you experience the last day burn out. The ill feelings miraculously fade once you submit that resignation letter. And yes, it always does.

Is it just me?

Technically, I am in my eighth job after graduating college six years ago. Subtracting the whole year I spent pursuing IT training, gives me an average of staying less than six months per job. Go ahead, I don’t blame you if you feel something is definitely wrong with me, I’m used to it. I always get a raised eyebrow plus a stink eye during an interview. It was also the reason why I got denied by Uncle Sam a tourist visa. After experiencing the wild, sexy, crazy life of a medical representative for a pharmaceutical giant back in 2006, I was determined to start all over again. To put some target on this loose missile’s direction, I had to think outside the Philippines. What better way to start a new life than to leave the country?  As if a powerful being heard me or plain happenstance, my sister got admitted to an MBA program in Boston. It was fated that I tag along with my sister in the USA. My parents were very supportive about it, they guided me from the application to the interview process. My dad helped me practice my lines against the possible questions likely to be thrown at me. Like if asked what purpose the visa would serve me, without missing a beat, I would tell them that I want to accompany my sister during her initial stay at Boston. To make sure that she gets all the help she needs before starting her MBA.

“Tang inang yan, pamatay ang english ko!”, I always say to myself after getting my diction right.

When the day of my scheduled interview at the US Embassy came, which probably was the worst two minutes of my life, I felt like breaking the glass and grabbing him by the collar, pulling his fat American ass up the divider. At least in the casino you can enjoy before losing your money, but in the US Embassy you have to wake up early, wait in line for hours before someone tells you “I can’t give you a visa.” To all power tripping consuls out there, “tang ina nyo!” That day, I have lost all plans in visiting the United States. I opted not to attend my sister’s graduation the following year, even though there was an official invitation from the school for immediate family members to attend the graduation rites.

My verbatim conversation with the consul  never fails to crack people, laughing so hard (they), I forget that it was a one hell of a bad experience.

That’s why I don’t drink coffee often.



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