Cheerful personnel shuffled papers back and forth with me through the cumbersome slot under the safety glass at the check-in and cashier counters (no matter what Biden and the Department of State website might say, they do still want an original of a doctor’s letter for the whole gender marker thing, but I had brought every document I owned that I thought might be of even slightly vague interest, so we were still in business). After the past two years of arduous Australian and Thai bureaucracy, finally fortune smiled (or my passport nationality held supreme sway, at least) and I was breezed past the crowds of unfortunates queuing in the open air both before and after the gate into a small A/C’d waiting room for U.S. I wore some fun underwear in preparation for potential strip searching, but aside from going to the wrong entrance to the compound on the first try, it was actually extremely smooth. I’d never been to a US embassy before so I wasn’t sure what to expect and the instructions on the website sounded ominous: come precisely on time or be denied entry, bring absolutely nothing but yourself, wallet/purse, papers in a clear plastic bag, be prepared to surrender your phone at security and retrieve it upon exiting.
