Embarrassing Embassy (say it five times fast!)

I had to go to the American Embassy today, because, globetrotter that I (apparently) am, I have actually used up ALL of the pages for visas and stamps in my passport, and therefore needed to get extra pages inserted in order to successfully renew my visa.

It was a little strange. I mean, security is INCREDIBLY important, and I'm grateful for the precautions, as I know that I will not be blown to smithereens while I'm in the sitting in the waiting room, twiddling my thumbs, and wondering when the guy whose digging expedition has taken him wrist-deep into his nostril is ACTUALLY gonna hit pay dirt and retrieve a slippery green treasure.

Anyway......

I had to surrender my mobile phone and one form of I.D. I thought I was finished there, but after running my bag through the security belt I had to surrender a thumb drive, the keys to both my school and condo, and a tube of lipstick. I set off the metal detector, and the guy had to give me the once over with his neon wand. Sure enough, BEEEEEEP! My back made the thing go ballistic. In one of the more awkward moments I've had in Thailand, the security guard had to unzip my dress to the middle of my back, and SLIP HIS FINGERS UNDER MY BRA STRAP. Now, in the U.S., if you have to endure a body search or a pat down (and, sadly, I've endured many.....what is it about me that screams SCARY TERRORIST????) or any sort of similarly uncomfortable precautionary measure, you are given ample warning about what is about to happen, and usually someone of your own gender does the groping. Sadly, that was not the case here. I was a little afraid that the guy was going to try the one-handed bra unhook (and, I gotta be honest, I would have been very impressed if he had pulled that off! No pun intended....), and I felt myself turning a fabulous shade of plum with the surprising exposure of it all. However, after a thorough inspection it was concluded that the only deadly weapon in my bra was my spectacular rack.

I'M KIDDING.

The big bummer of this all is the fact that I actually had to drop off my passport, collect my belongings so that I could call my boss, leave the Embassy in search of lunch, and GO THROUGH THE WHOLE SEARCH PROCESS ALL OVER AGAIN. I tried to plead with them, but clearly they saw me for the devious mass murderer that I am and thought that I had ACTUALLY stuck a deadly weapon in my bra this time.

Now, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience: For the fist time in almost a year and a half, after being handed a form I got to write the date with the month first!!!!! Even though now I'm somewhat used to writing the day, month, and year in that order, as that's how it's done here (and, um, in the rest of the world), I still feel like I have some bizarre mental impairment every time I write the date. I STILL have to stop and think about which one goes first. It felt strangely comforting to be able to write the date the way I'm used to writing it, and I had a moment of overblown patriotism.

I know that it's going to be a hard adjustment to leave the softness, the quiet, the pace, the chaos, the color, the adventure of Asia and return to the U.S. I'm prepared for some pretty hefty reverse culture shock. But, when that day comes, I think I'll be ready. And that day will take its rightful place right behind the month.