So I took today off to get ready for my trip to France as well as handle a single document off of my “visa” list. This was #6, the document from the police department that affirmed that I was not a criminal or fugitive.
By 9:15, I had the document in hand. Yay! Hurdle overcome. Wow, was I wrong.
I went home, and Google and I translated the document from English to Spanish, which my friend Melina corrected. (Thanks, Melina!) I went to the office in downtown Atlanta to have a super-de-dooper notary-type seal on it, called an “apostille,” and the person helping me kindly said that it wasn’t going to happen. First, I needed to have a statement from me (notarized) that indicated that this document (although notarized) was actually the document that it said it was. Second, Melina’s magical language handiwork for the required translation needed to come with a document stating that yes, she translated the document. Yep, that needed to be notarized, too.
The silver lining on this story is that Melina and Elaine, who is a notary, are both coworkers in my office, and they were ridiculously generous in helping me get these documents out the door. I now have a packet to go in the mail that is notarized about 8 ways to Sunday that should cause the final documents, along with the apostille, to be waiting on me when I return from France.
So, here’s what all that looks like:
Me –> Police dept (yay!) –> Home to translate –> Downtown Atlanta (yikes!) –> Home to email electronic copies –> Work to notarize just about everything in sight –> Home to scan final document (juuuuust in case) –> Post office (now, wait!) –> France (ooh la la) –> Home –> Mailbox (hoping the final documents will be there)
Seriously. I now understand why people don’t emigrate. This is just ONE of the several documents I have to produce. I think I need some sangria to get through all this.