You know as I was heading to the airport this morning, I drove past the US Consulate, which is in Central. The enormous queue struck me as impressive and I thought to myself “thank God that’s not me”

Except now that it is.

Things have decidedly gone from bad to worse and you know how I had said previously that there’s really nothing you can’t fix with a credit card and alcohol, sadly this may not be one of them.

For the most part, I am relatively organized. At least I think I am. I had lucked out this morning and found an Uber only 5 mins from the apartment. A quick tap on the app and it was mine.

Five minutes later, a late model BMW arrives and I am on my way to the airport. All was well. Drive past the embassy, laugh at the queue of people and as I said above, thank the Good Lord that that wasn’t me.

Get to HKG, and retrieve my bag from the baggage storage place. Head upstairs to the First Class check in section and am warmly greeted (well, ok, there’s no such thing in Cantonese) but there was a forced smile and then a lot of arm waving and barking at each other)

A very polite young man asks for my destination. I respond. Hand over the passport. And then go to grab my Green Card.

The young CX attendant waits patiently. He then does the finger tap routine on his keyboard. You and I both know that he’s not actually doing anything at this point other than buying some Pokemon artifact on eBay.

The tapping continues…

I calmly say to the young staffer that I cant find said Green Card but I have a photo of it on my iPhone and that surely will be plenty and he can go ahead and check me all the way through to DEN.

Except for the fact that he couldn’t. Not even the slightest.

I then decide to apply for an electronic Visa, thinking that there is always another way. There are now a gaggle of CX staffers standing around the minimalistic F podium and there is an almighty cacophony of noise, much arm waving and much use of the word “idiot” in their mother tongue.

However the ETSA angle was no good either. One of the staffers was on the phone now to the US Consulate talking to someone important. A lot of nodding of the head ensued.

“Mr Eight Black you will have to go to the US Consulate and they will issue you a temporary Green Card so you can travel”
“You’re kidding”
“No Sir, I am Cantonese. We don’t have a sense of humor”
“Umm ok”
“So go now then?”
“Yes, go now”
“Here’s the address”
“We will mind your bags”

My heart sinks. I look for anyone to blame but me. But there isn’t anyone within a bulls roar.

On the bright side, I have stacks of time. Oodles in fact. My flight was wheels up at 1255pm. It wasn’t but 930am when the slight hiccup occurred. I was in an Uber at 935am (Only in HKG can you order an Uber, and some 25 year old kid rolls up in a brand spanking new Tesla Model X, worth a paltry HKD $2.5 Million (approx. US$320K). ETA to the US of A Consulate was 1015am. Allow 45 minutes to fill out a few forms, pay a few hundred HKG dollars and then hoof it back to HKG with plenty of time to ingest a basket or 2 of wonderful Dim Sum and a copious amount of F class liquid refreshment before my perfectly relaxed flight to LAX. Pointy end here I come.

I mean, in the immortal words of Jeremy Clarkson, How Hard Could It Be?

Well, as it turns out. Very Hard. Nigh on impossible in fact.

Wait until you hear this.

So I get to the Consulate. This is not a place you can navigate in 10 minutes. You basically have to strip naked and hand them all your worldly possessions. There is the obligatory cavity search, which is the equivalent of a colonoscopy without the KY jelly.

Amazingly, there was more than 1 person at the Consulate who knew I was coming. I am convinced that people who work at Consulates also have a part time job at those sex lines. You know the ads you see of a gorgeous goddess, where you are seduced by those digital eyes and in a moment of weakness, you call the 800 number.

They tell you to come around for the most incredible massage and you agree. You arrive, heart racing, you knock on the door ever so gingerly and then. And then an 85-year old woman opens the door on a walking frame. Minus her teeth.

On multiple occasions – while on the phone en route to the Consulate people would tell me “it will be fine. You can get an expedited pass, we will help you, you are practically American, do not worry, Donald Trump doesn’t yet know that he doesn’t own Australia so we will issue you a temporary permit in the blink of an eye”. Lies. Damn Lies. All of them.

I managed to wave my arms enough to skip the outrageously long queue, clear security with nothing more than a pair of ironed underwear, my passport and my billfold. There was still hope. Maybe only a glimmer. But it was still there.

I approach a plexiglass window and some women smiles and says “Ah you must be Mr Eight Black”

There is a genuine sigh of relief on my end. I hand the overly nice woman my passport and my Green Card number. Surely, they can tap away at a few buttons, issue me an impressive looking US Federal Government document and presto, I will be on my way in the blink of an eye.

Except this nice young woman was quickly over ruled by the Cantonese version of Satan. The Devil Herself.

"Mr Eight Black I am now the voice of reality. This is the US Federal Government. I am about to explain to you 2 options. None of which are pretty. Yes, we can help you. But you need to fill out this application. It is form I-131A, commonly known as a LPR Boarding Foil"

"Once you complete this application, we will “request” an expedited interview with a real American with a gun, you will pay a fee of somewhere north of US$500 and maybe, just maybe we can get you clearance to travel in 2-3 days. It has been done before"

"Or you can have your long-suffering wife FedEx you your Green Card, the one you stupidly left behind, to someplace here in HKG and then you can proceed as normal"

So that’s where we are then. I sheepishly Ubered back to the airport, retrieved my luggage from the CX folks, who all gleefully took pictures of me and wanted an autograph for their most stupid passenger of the week award.

Called my buddy who lives in the swanky apartment…

“Paul, this is Simon”
“What’s up?”
“Has Rose changed the sheets on the bed yet?”
“Not sure, why?”
“I might be here a few more days. No longer than a month I promise”
“Umm ok”
“Does this mean you’ll be coming back in a Police Car. Or the same van?”
“Very funny. Things have not gone well today”
“Obviously”

But that was an easy call. Piece of cake in fact. Now came the hard part. Calling the wife. That was going to be a challenge. But its not the first time she has had to bail me out of something.

Here goes then…