Mission Accomplished

  After an interesting spat with the printer, I had almost everything I needed for appointment with immigrations. The checklist from the school had one blank: proof of registration at the University of Belgrano. I had everything else.  I marked the checklist, filled my backpack, and checked my imaginary sidearm, and went to bed feeling like some kind of international spy.  I was so psyched about being a spy that I couldn't sleep.  I was thinking about top secret missions in France that were so secret that I didn't even know what they were about.
  About the time that I drifted off to sleep, the alarm clock went off.  Fifteen minutes later, I was awake and going.  I got to school about the time that I wanted to, got my document, and kept moving.  Two subways and a wrong turn later, I got the the immigrations office about half an hour after my appointment time.  But, I still got in the incredibly long line.  Very soon, the idea of being a spy disintegrated.  Superspies don't stand in long lines.  While in the line, I realized the other reason why I couldn't be a spy: spies aren't supposed to stand out.  Looking at my reflection, I noticed that the 8 closest people to me didn't even come up to my shoulder (most of them were men).  Well, if you need a spy to infiltrate the NBA, let me know...
 After an hour, I reached the front.  The process was fairly slick, if you don't mind being told to go back and forth across the room and squeezing onto a crowded bench about 4 times.  But I was glad to sit. I have no idea how many times that I signed my name, but I think that I'm got my signature down.  So, the guys finally hands me a paper, and says, "Come back in 20 days." "Thank you."
  Then, I got on a train, and came home. Mission. Accomplished.