Had to go to Russian consulate in New York, and have some observations.
The crowd, anywhere from 5 to 40 people, waits outside. It is pleasant in May, but was bitterly cold in December.
There are lot of elderly folks, and most of them usually attempt to inch in front of the line, to ask a question. Not unusual to see a Russian citizen to inch in front of a line to "ask a question." In Russia questions were usually something like "how much these potatoes cost?" or "any fish left?" One cannot find the answers to these questions from the back of the line.
Since the line is outside, there is no number to take, no seat to occupy, no customer service to inquire. All wait in the same line, asking each other on details of paperwork and procedural details, which clearly nobody knows. Every 5-10 minutes a clerk unlocks the main door from inside, and steps out to let a group of people out and another group in. This is a window of opportunity for elderly emigres to ask a question. The clerk's job is to deflect all questions and get inside as quickly as possible. Some elderly citizens clearly don't know it, and scream the questions, all at the same time. The clerk randomly answers one question, and it is always a variation of a "No," as in "you are wrong, we don't do that, go home," or "your question requires an answer from the Consul, but he is not in today." This latter response clearly is designed to baffle the questioner; if the consul is not in, there is clearly nobody to answer any questions. Another popular question is to request an affidavit of some sort. According to the clerk, such an (or any?) affidavit was ceased to exist 4 years ago. This answer utterly confuses the elderly because the clerk does not offer anything in its place.
Having derailed the attempts to gain the access with questions, the clerk shouts names of those who are allowed in. Actually he does not allow them in right away. He asks why they are there. Clever elderly citizens know this, and stand in line to ask a question. The clerk deflects their questions as well. It appears that some elderly citizens learned that they won't win this game, and have a paperwork that they shove to the clerk. This invariably makes the clerk cease calling names and review the paperwork. I am surprised at that since paperwork is just a fancy way of asking a question. Sometimes if deflects it, but sometimes he allows the person in.
Immediately inside is a narrow hallway framed by a metal detector. I am convinced it is for show. It beeps randomly and did not detect car keys and a phone in pockets. Bags that are passed on the outside of the frame are not examined either. Works for me. There are several chairs in the foyer; several people are waiting there. The clerk ushers me in the next room, "wait for your name is called." People are sitting on two sofas and lean against a large table with "Russian-American" newsletter scattered on it. Someone's name is called to one of the officer's windows. Each window looks exactly like that of customer care booth on the Grand Station Terminal in New York. It has a round microphone/speaker assembly cut in the middle. Under the thick glass, there is a metal box that looks exactly like the one on gas stations where you would put cash, and the register clerk would pull it in, and then will push back the change.
So, someone's name was called. The entire dialog is heard with all personal details including names, addresses, the number and names of children, marital status, the reason for being there. Wild.
Exit is not free. The door is locked, and gets unlocked every few minutes to exchange the visitors. The cycle repeats, questions, deflections, affidavits, paperwork. Some bent universe.
The crowd, anywhere from 5 to 40 people, waits outside. It is pleasant in May, but was bitterly cold in December.
There are lot of elderly folks, and most of them usually attempt to inch in front of the line, to ask a question. Not unusual to see a Russian citizen to inch in front of a line to "ask a question." In Russia questions were usually something like "how much these potatoes cost?" or "any fish left?" One cannot find the answers to these questions from the back of the line.
Since the line is outside, there is no number to take, no seat to occupy, no customer service to inquire. All wait in the same line, asking each other on details of paperwork and procedural details, which clearly nobody knows. Every 5-10 minutes a clerk unlocks the main door from inside, and steps out to let a group of people out and another group in. This is a window of opportunity for elderly emigres to ask a question. The clerk's job is to deflect all questions and get inside as quickly as possible. Some elderly citizens clearly don't know it, and scream the questions, all at the same time. The clerk randomly answers one question, and it is always a variation of a "No," as in "you are wrong, we don't do that, go home," or "your question requires an answer from the Consul, but he is not in today." This latter response clearly is designed to baffle the questioner; if the consul is not in, there is clearly nobody to answer any questions. Another popular question is to request an affidavit of some sort. According to the clerk, such an (or any?) affidavit was ceased to exist 4 years ago. This answer utterly confuses the elderly because the clerk does not offer anything in its place.
Having derailed the attempts to gain the access with questions, the clerk shouts names of those who are allowed in. Actually he does not allow them in right away. He asks why they are there. Clever elderly citizens know this, and stand in line to ask a question. The clerk deflects their questions as well. It appears that some elderly citizens learned that they won't win this game, and have a paperwork that they shove to the clerk. This invariably makes the clerk cease calling names and review the paperwork. I am surprised at that since paperwork is just a fancy way of asking a question. Sometimes if deflects it, but sometimes he allows the person in.
Immediately inside is a narrow hallway framed by a metal detector. I am convinced it is for show. It beeps randomly and did not detect car keys and a phone in pockets. Bags that are passed on the outside of the frame are not examined either. Works for me. There are several chairs in the foyer; several people are waiting there. The clerk ushers me in the next room, "wait for your name is called." People are sitting on two sofas and lean against a large table with "Russian-American" newsletter scattered on it. Someone's name is called to one of the officer's windows. Each window looks exactly like that of customer care booth on the Grand Station Terminal in New York. It has a round microphone/speaker assembly cut in the middle. Under the thick glass, there is a metal box that looks exactly like the one on gas stations where you would put cash, and the register clerk would pull it in, and then will push back the change.
So, someone's name was called. The entire dialog is heard with all personal details including names, addresses, the number and names of children, marital status, the reason for being there. Wild.
Exit is not free. The door is locked, and gets unlocked every few minutes to exchange the visitors. The cycle repeats, questions, deflections, affidavits, paperwork. Some bent universe.
