My classmate in the lower bunk woke me that morning. I looked at the time: after seven. My embassy interview was at nine! Every trace of sleep vanished. There was no time to wonder how many people’s peaceful dreams had survived the mysterious failure of my watch alarm—I still do not know what happened. I grabbed my documents and ran.

On the way, I practiced potential Q&A with my dad. Along with the driver, the three of us agreed on the principle: “The visa officers are just doing a job for a living, they aren’t looking for complexity, so keep everything as simple as possible.” It was only when I arrived that I realized the biggest challenge might not be the conversation—there were suspiciously too many people on site.

In the crowd, I occasionally heard complaints like “Are all these people going to the US?” and I wondered why too. The most agonizing part of queuing is not the waiting, but the fact that you don’t have a phone while waiting! When they checked my ID, I was required to store my phone, watch, and everything else. Naturally, I didn’t need to run to the storage booths opposite, but just handed them directly to my dad. Empty-handed (well, except for my document folder), I hummed a tune in the line, completely clueless about how many people were ahead of me and how long I’d have to wait.

Turning a corner, the view ahead suddenly opened up—to another massive crowd. After standing outside the embassy for so long, there were actually this many people inside! By rough estimation, I stood outside the embassy from 8:30 to 9:30, spent half an hour waiting for security (and lost a data cable in my pocket in the process), waited half an hour to record fingerprints, and waited an hour for the interview. After navigating back and forth inside the embassy (well, not that exaggerated, but why did we have to go back outside to wait after fingerprinting?), I finally sat down in front of the visa officer. After I handed over my I-20, he looked up at me and started typing away on his keyboard: “Why did you choose this school?” Me: “My parents’ friend works there.” He: “What do your parents do?” Me: “Teachers.” He: “What is your major?” Me: (recited the contents of the I-20). He: “Okay, congratulations, you’ve passed.” Me: ???

Three hours in line. One minute of questions.

Oh right, before leaving, I asked if I could go back and rummage through the trash can to retrieve my data cable, and was ruthlessly rejected.