Construction on the new American Embassy, soon to be the most secure location on Pariser Platz.
I thought of quite a poignant observation to share with you -- well, one that I consider poignant at least -- which I must say I quite nearly abandoned in light of the event that occurred yesterday in Athens, Greece: Namely a small rocket attack that caused an explosion in the third floor bathroom of the American Embassy there. To which I say (in all seriousness), that it is most fortunate that no one was hurt. Not simply because I detest violence not sanctioned by organized sports (I also loathe dysfunctional bathrooms), but also because it might well have kept me from imparting my tale.
Furthermore, since several of you have very sweetly mentioned how much you enjoy reading the little pieces I post here (or at least have lied very deceptively about it), I feel doubly obligated to provide you with the following, even if it does perhaps put a future career opportunity with the State Department in question.
Anyway, in Berlin, the building housing the good folks who serve Americans such as myself is located -- as is posted on the Internet by the State Department -- on Clayallee in the southwestern portion of this city. It is not a pretty building; in fact, if it were not for the employees of that place, who were helpful and direct if not always polite, I would have thought I was visiting a prison. (Although thankfully I have never been to such a place.) Indeed, the whole compound is surrounded by sentry posts, a very tall and pointy fence that I would not try to climb, and numerous security guards with reasonably large weapons. I got the feeling that from the time I stepped out of the U-Bahn station, I was being monitored by surveillance cameras -- which was probably the case. Upon arrival there, I was made to stand outside for a few minutes (presumably while people wearing sunglasses reviewed my file) and then at a tempo that might have been made to seem arbitrary, I was admitted to a security booth for screening. At the metal detector, I was required to lockbox three electronic devices that I had on my person. My cell phone (which I seldom use) and my music player (which had only my wife's music loaded upon it) I could do without.
However, the third device -- my digital camera -- I was not particularly pleased at parting with. Not because I would have needed it to complete my business, but simply because I am accustomed to carrying it with me at all times these days, as I enjoy recording the world around me. And hey, they're watching me, why can't I watch them? But apparently visual descriptions of the interior of the embassy are a no-no, and I could not take a picture of, for example, the enormous seal of the United States hanging on the wall, the other "customers" waiting there, or the children's play area. That may not be precisely the reason for banning digital cameras, but hey, no cameras, it's a rule, I can live with that.
Although such a policy would anger or even infuriate some thinkers who -- like myself -- pretend to write for a living, I am not one of these people. No, no; when it comes to embassies, I believe in security, law, order and more security. Others though, might have been tempted to compose a exhaustive account of every last nook and cranny of that place. I, however, shall provide you with one that I am sure the good people running our nation would approve of:
After clearing security, I walked forward for an unspecified distance before turning either to the right or to the left down a corridor to a locked door. At this point I pushed a button that made an innominate sound and I proceeded through the doorway -- although I do not feel at liberty to clarify whether I pushed or pulled. After admiring a large portrait of a famous American politician who may or may not play with dolls, I then made use of a staircase to either ascend or descend steps, the exact number of which, in the interest of safety, will remain untold.
At this new level of the embassy building, which was cleverly disguised with the moniker "Citizen Services," I proceeded to a clerk's window -- probably made of sound and bullet-proof glass for my safety as much as for his (or hers). I had intended to introduce myself as "Codename Ziplock" -- after all, this place needs to be secure -- but the clerk insisted on referring to me as "Mr. Saunders." The aforementioned task related to my travel document (essentially stapling in another twenty-some pages) apparently required some clearance from headquarters; I think it's safe to assume a call was placed to Condoleeza Rice. In the meantime I relaxed on a piece of furniture that was made of fabric certainly produced by the honorable citizens of a country closely allied to us Americans, such as Italy, Ukraine, or Poland, although I do not think it wise to name names.
Eventually, with my papers once again in order, I retraced my steps, picked up my embargoed electronics equipment and proceeded home. Now I'm outside of the "secure zone" again, but I have to wonder -- even with what happened in Athens -- doesn't all the security in some respect add to a sense of insecurity? Is it really better to invest in so many guns and pointy sticks rather than in goodwill? And to the Apple corporation: is my iPod really that dangerous?
Codename Ziplock signing off.
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