IX. Waiting for Feinstien

The next morning, I checked out of the psychiatric hospital/hotel and headed to the US Embassy in Warsaw. Well, more accurately to the sidewalk in front of the embassy. It probably took about 90 minutes for all of us to get through security, which comprised of putting all items through an x-ray scanner, confiscating electronics, and being escorted through a metal detector, followed by a desultory physical inspection. I’ve never been to a US Embassy before, so I don’t know the standard procedure in terms of security, but this seemed gratuitously hardcore. Especially for Poland, not exactly the epicenter of organized…well, anything.

Once we made it through security, life on the other side was rough. Without our cameras, cell phones, and iPads, we had to resort to making eye contact and conducting conversations. If it wasn’t for the stale coffee and cookies, I don’t know what we would’ve done to fill the awkward lulls, other than rip off our clothes and dance around the furniture in the style of Lester Horton. Thankfully, before it came down to that, the rest of the group  passed the security check. So we all sat down and waited for the ambassador to come in and explain to us whose brilliant idea it was to give a bunch of twenty-somethings $25,000 to reek havoc on foreign nations.

The US Embassy, Warsaw: an etude to Soviet-block structuralism

This turned out to be a long wait. Instead of listening to Ambassador Feinstein, we watched some poor staff member stall for two hours until he arrived. At the time, I felt really bad for the woman, but in retrospect I can’t help finding her desperate attempts to keep our attention hilarious. Why they couldn’t just let us talk amongst ourselves or engage in a Q and A is beyond me, but it was worth it in order to witness the flailing one-woman show. Every joke (“Who here is from Ohio? Any Ohians out there? Oh, hi! Ha!”) was followed by an apologetic “He’ll be here any minute. I promise.” She always seemed just one pregnant pause away from attempting to juggle or do the can-can. It had the painful and awkward humor redolent of Curb Your Enthusiasm or The Office: too somberly real for farce, but too farcical for somber reality. I could almost picture Larry David squinting at the woman, bewildered, while simultaneously wiping cookie crumbs off his pants.

Finally, the ambassador’s arrival marked the end of this bizarre series of delay tactics. He apologetically walked up to the podium and proceeded to phone-in a prosaic but overall pleasant speech about how we all have a bright future ahead of us, and should wear our Fulbright title “like a new middle name.” Then we had the run-down on Polish security, medical insurance, absentee ballots, etc. (Expat Living 101), followed by the opportunity to ask questions about US-Polish relations. I must admit, the questions of my newly acquired colleagues were intimidating: What were the reactions to the release of the previously buried Katyn massacre records by US Intelligence?; What action has been taken regarding the outdated Visa policy for Polish citizens to visit the States?; How does Lech Walesa’s endorsement of Romney affect US-Polish relations during the coming election? We received some phoned-in answers, and  then were politely escorted off the premises.

Not until we were back on the sidewalk, reunited with our electronic devices, did we learn that the US Ambassador in Libya had been murdered. (Remember that it was still 3 am EST when we entered the embassy, so the news had not been reported to the public.) Retrospectively, I'd imagine that the hyped up security and the tardiness of Ambassador Feinstein may have been due to this tragedy. When he was supposed to be speaking to us about bright futures, he was likely getting briefed on the horrific loss of a colleague.

I won’t denigrate the event any further by attempting to provide some literary emulsion about very real and recent loss, but I do think I need to write my condolences to the family and friends of Stevens, Smith, Doherty and Woods. I know words collapse under such pain, and I know that the sympathy of a stranger on a blog can do nothing to soothe a swollen heart. But I wish we’d known what had happened while in the embassy, so we could have dealt with security and a distraught ambassador with a bit more sympathy. Also so that we could have looked the staff in the eye and told them we wish them well, and we’re sorry. 

On a completely different note--now that I've done the "high road" part of this entry--I’d also like to use my burgeoning blog celebrity to reproach those who keep exploiting this loss for political fodder. My already poorly functioning Jewish stomach turns when I think of how this event became a campaign point before the bodies even reached home. While not particularly spiritual in any sense of the word, I would like to think some things are still respected, if not sacred, and life is one of them, particularly the undue loss of it.

In short, if I ever screw up my life enough to become famous or political, I genuinely hope I don’t die during an election year.