37 Days...

...until my flight leaves for Brazil.

I excitedly picked up my visa from the post office a week ago. Due to reciprocity (whatever the US does to them, they'll do to us, which I can respect), I had to make an appointment and present my application at the nearest Brazilian consulate at 9 AM. We left, yawning, at 5 AM and drove through the sunrise to Houston. Still, no complaining because at least I don't live in the other states in this consulate's jurisdiction: Arkansas, Colorado, Kansas, Louisiana, New Mexico or Oklahoma.

My boyfriend and I arrived early and spent a half hour in the tall, sleek building's cafe. I excavated spoonfuls of blueberry yogurt from my accidentally frozen Greek yogurt. I left him there with his coffee and laptop and returned to the lobby. Other folks quietly filed in armed with folders full of papers, that made my own document collection look pitiful. They had us sign in, gave us badges and ushered us into the elevator at precisely 8:59 AM.

In the consulate, chairs were arranged as if for an audience watching the production of each visa interview. My name was called first and sat with my back to the scattered audience as I sifted through the documents on my lap.

My interviewer, a man with a sparkle in his eye and whitish hair, and I exchanged greetings from both sides of the glass partition between us.

Silence.

"Well...?" he said.

"Well, I'd like to apply for a visa, a Vitem-I."

"Yes...?" he said.

"Uh...what papers would you like from me?"

"What do you have?"

"I guess you'd like this form first?" I said, handing him a print-out of the online visas application.

"An internship, huh?" he said, "Do you speak Portuguese?"

"Sim, falo Portugues."

"What are you doing there?"

"Working with youth in the conflict with the law as they try to reintegrate back into society. Here are the terms of agreement between myself and the agency."

"Ah, you're one of those trying to make a difference in the world?" he smiled.

"That's me, an idealist."

"Where's the paperwork from your university about your loans?"

"Uh-oh," I thought, "Well, it's on the terms of agreement about my loans. That's all I have."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Um, I have a letter on university letterhead from my professor about the internship, nothing about money in it though."

He took it, smirking slightly.

I couldn't help thinking that being a non-threatening, cute, and yes, white, girl dressed appropriately, was definitely an unfair privilege in this situation. He could have given me a harder time. Especially if I looked differently. But I certainly didn't want to point that out to him and say, "Sir, you're right. I don't have the appropriate paperwork. Perhaps I should reschedule and come back?" I took advantage of my privilege.

He took my criminal background check.

Then he started tapping things into the computer.

"Do you want the copy of my driver's license?" I asked, looking down at the pile of "required" documents that he hadn't requested.

"If I had wanted it, I would have asked for it," he replied.

I put my stamped Express mail envelope on the counter. "Oh, you want us to mail it to you?" he joked.

I nodded.

He handed me a receipt. "We'll send this out to you next week, give or take a few days."

In less than 5 minutes the interview was over. My boyfriend looked up surprised in the middle of drinking his coffee, "That was it?" he asked.

"Yeah, so what do you want to do now?" I asked, "We're here so we might as well see something besides this building and the highway."