My word for the month: irony.

i·ro·ny – incongruity: incongruity between what actually happens and what might be expected to happen, especially when this disparity seems absurd or laughable.

Earlier this week I felt very fortunate. Christa and I got our visa paperwork in to the Consulate one day ahead of the rest of our group.  The early bird gets the worm, right…

Oh sure, you might point out that we had to get passport photos retaken for our whole family since I left the originals in a suitcase at the Lanna Palace–a hotel that suddenly boasted waterfront views on all four sides.

And if you really wanted to get facetious you would remind me that I also had to fill out all the visa paperwork again since the original forms were also residing in the same suitcase at the Lanna Palace.

But the point I would come back to is that even with the duplication of effort our family was the first to get the required paperwork in the hands of the Consulate for approval.  Sometimes, inexplicably, things just work out in your favor.

To sweeten the deal, the visa we were told to apply for is a 30-day tourist visa–a typically easy one to get approval for.  What country turns away tourists, after all?  That’s like saying, "No, please, we don’t want your money."  It seemed like such a sure thing.

Oh we’re not tourists, but that’s how these things work.  You apply for a tourist visa (pay lots of money), they let you in the country, they make you re-apply for a student visa (pay lots of money), and then they let you enroll in classes (pay lots more money).  Simple economics.

Anyway, today was supposed to be visa pickup day.  Since our visas were tourist visas, since we turned our applications in first, since we already had suffered through a flood, and since our daughters look so cute in their passport photos, I felt sure we would have our visas well in hand before lunch.

Can you hear the diabolical laughter of Irony snickering into the abyss?

Yes, as I was peacefully typing out our September newsletter today there came a knock-knocking on my hotel room door.

"It’s the visas, isn’t it?" I asked through the peep-hole.

"Yes, they want you to come down to the Consulate and sign some papers."

It seems one must be careful when filling out forms.  There are pitfalls at every turn.  It seems that "technical writer" is not a desirable occupation in some countries.  People just hate the Media.   That’s universal truth.

Of all the jobs I could have jotted on that line, I had to choose that one.  It seemed so innocuous, so harmless, so boring.  And yet, it raised the eyebrow of  the political establishment.  They seized on that word "writer" and wouldn’t let go.  They needed an explanation–assurances–that I was not a journalist in disguise.

What is a tech-nic-al wri-ter?

"Well…I wrote instructions…for peo-ple to fol-low…to use a com-put-er program.  I worked for an in-sur-ance corp-or-a-tion.  So peo-ple could know how…to…do…their jobs."

"Not journalist?  No?"

"No…" and smile.  Fade to black.

Our visa applications were the only ones from our group that were questioned.  I had to jot down a job description on the back of our application.  Put those writing skills to work, I did.  And we got our tourist visas.

Oh, what an ironic month.  I’m just glad they didn’t ask me what my Bachelor’s degree was in or I might be calling Chiang Mai home.