That one time i went to the Brazilian Consulate in Midtown Manhattan - NaBloPoMo Day 23

 

It's a 22 min walk from the 33rd Street PATH stop
to the Consulate General of Brazil

Mark and my nephew are going to the Brazilian Consulate tomorrow to take care of some business and I helped them figure out how to get there on the train.  

This reminded me of the time I too, went to the Brazilian Consulate to take care of some business.

It all started when my cousin, who was really young at the time, maybe she was a freshman in college, pulled an extremely "freshman in college" move. She mailed her passport to the Brazilian Consulate in New York City. She was trying to get a Visa to be an exchange student over the summer or something, I can't remember.

This was a big mistake on about three levels. First of all, my cousin lives in Virginia, therefore outside the NY Metro area which is served by the Consulate General of NY. Also, you have to get a Visa at an embassy, not a consulate, turns out. Lastly, if you mail your passport to the Brazilian Consulate, they won't mail it back to you -- liability or whatever. If you mail them your passport, you have to come and retrieve it in person. 

You can see where this is headed, I'm assuming.  

So I am minding my own business one afternoon when I get a frantic phone call from my normally very chill aunt. My cousin is going to send me a letter, she says. Could I please take that letter over to the Brazilian Consulate, show it to them to prove my identity, and then they will give me my cousin's passport. I need to do this on the double because of course, the freshman in college waited until the last minute and now there was a deadline to get the passport back and go to DC in time to get the Visa before the start of the exchange student program and. So. 

I said sure. It actually was no problem, I worked literally two blocks away. The next day, the FedEx arrives containing the "letter to prove my identity" you know, my identity as the cousin of the holder of the wayward passport.

I rip open the FedEx and withdraw said letter. It is handwritten by my teenage cousin. If there wasn't so much riding on it actually serving as an official document, it was kind of adorable. It was written on a piece of lined notebook paper. It said, in blue cursive:

Dear Consulate General of Brazil,

Please give my cousin my passport.

Thank you very much,

Something like this. 

I roll up to the Consulate General of Brazil and go through all the metal detectors and rigamarole. I go into this big room and take a number and sit down in a huge waiting area of chairs. There's a long row of customer service people sitting behind big reinforced glass windows with slots at the bottom to slide documents back and forth. It's very official and the place is packed.

When it's finally my turn, I slink up to the woman behind the glass who had called my number. I push the piece of notebook paper through the slot to her and say... ummmm. I'm here to pick up my cousin's passport?

At that moment I realize how ridiculous this is. The Brazilian Consulate General of NY is a *huge* place, it's like multiple stories of building. What were the chances of this one woman behind a reinforced glass window having *any* idea where some random kid's passport sent there accidentally was located?

Well, actually, chances were high. 

The woman says, "oh right! She slides off her stool, rummages around in a pile of papers off to the side and comes back with my cousin's passport.

She does not look at the letter, or check my ID.

I walked over to the FedEx by Grand Central and returned the passport to my cousin.

And that is the end of this story.