Disclaimer: This is a humorous, hypothetical person." You" does not mean anyone in particular, ok? Keep your torches and pitchfoks in the shed, please. 50K is a small price to pay and here is why: Here you are in a foreing, almost alien culture where the only similarities between you and the locals are measured in things like "they have two arms, two legs and a head and they drive cars and motorbikes". You know nothing about their laws, traditions, customs or cultural nuances and to make things even worse you never paid attention to the growing number of main stream and social media exposures of downnright abhorent foreign nationals' behaviour across SE Asia, especially Thailand, both in bars, temples and corporate board roooms and how that might just influence the general mood of every officer inside an immigration bureau. You have no idea how to open a bank account in your name, and get confused by the layout of the badly translated lines of text in the forms you attempt to fill on your own, either on-line or printed versions you somehow managed to obtain. You spend a month gathering intelligence, re-printing forms and making sure you got this. Google translate is two sentences away from requesting a kill-bot drone be sent out to your physical location as it is up to its digital neck with your non-sensical questions and inquiries tainted by your Western upbringing, hubris and a bushel of entitlement because you think everyone is supposed to bow to your superior malanine deficient skin,. Even an AI is not spared your dumb assumptions about that superiority. The queue to the window you are supposed to go first is about an afternon away and you look at the people in tha waiting room as if they wer your mortal enemies jus t for the fact they arived earlier than you. But, somehow you go Zen and apply every yoga relaxing lesson you remember from those Youtube videos you ran across in your younger days, keep your anger in check, bide you time and make it to window number one. The officer behind the glass gets an immediate demerit for not saluting you as if you were a diety from a higher realm, but you are too pissed off to prosecute him or her for the faux-pas. As he starts to read the fifth page of your stack , someone walks into the cubicle, the offcer lifts his eyes from your papers and you know right there and then this is going sideways. She - happens to be a she, of course - is the embodynent of your Asian fever fantasies. The officer listens to what sounds suspicious whispers, flavored with conspiracy tones reserved for a spy novel. Your mind wanders while your blood piles up on your old legs to the point where your varicose veins are filing formal complanints with whoever is in charge of your ailing heart. The officer gets up and without even glancing at your papers leaves his post and goes over to the cubicle where the little brown morsel tempting your lower regions performs her daily rituals. Minutes go by. Furtive glances from both of the officers are eroding your confidence like the ice cubes in your beer Chang.More minutes go by. The air conditioning is not keeping up with your rising temperature and your system is experiencing stresses reserved for people 50 years younger than you. Sweat, the natural response to any stressful situation, begins to form spots in places obvious enough to elicit gasps from the people sitting directly behind you. Excruciatingly long minutes go by. You have lost count of how many times you looked at you Apple watch, and your vitals are fast approaching the orange zone. Your ankles and knees are competing with your varicose veins in the race to the complaint department lodged somewhere inside the turmoil you brain is becoming. The officer returns to his post without so much as a glance in your direction. He takes more minutes re-calibrating his thoughts to where he was before cutie showed up. He must have riffled through those papers 9 times forwards and seven times bacwards and you wonder if there is something you missed. More sweat piles on top of the half dried spots under you arms, back and chest. The chemcal reactions resulting from this fresh onslaught of salty brew is the discharge of odors the likes of wich very few have been subjected to. People behind you squirm in their chairs and weigh the options between losing their seats and suffocating by the stench assailing their innocent nostrils. The officer snaps a paper clip onto your stack of forms, adds another piece of paper with what looks like hyeroglyphs stamped on it and says something incomprehensibe to you foggy brain. Noticing the "deer-in-the-headlights" look on your face, he points to the waiting area and you sheepishly turn around and, like a man in a trance, sit back down again. A place has magically appeared and there are two vacant chairs on either side. You look at the person nearest to you and desperatly hope he speaks your language so at least you can vent your frustration. It seems like hours have passed. The person next to you returned the same look you gave the officer a minute eons ago. He or she know better than to dare enter the killzone you have become. You fiddle in your chair while your throat fells like a desert road used by loaded camels and laughing bearded bedouins somewhere in the depths of the Sahara. Your phone decided not to receive any signals and yoou feel cut-off from humanity.. Besides, the sign on the wall says "no cell phone use allowed". But you missed that, of course. And it just does not matter any more, You just want OUT. You feel so out of place, an alien planet filled with methane breathing creatures would be nice, just about now. A nice lady comes by and motions for you to follow her. At this point you would write a bad chek to your own mother just to change the dynamics and glance at some form of positive resuts, some indication the process is moving forward. So you follow her without question, your pride gone, your ego flattened, your sense of entitlement shattered by the brick wall of Thai bureaocracy and complete mis-lignment with western values. In heavily accented English she explains the errors of your ways: You missed a few things while filling out your forms. a ccouple of dots missing on top of the letter "i" and a 5 ythat with a fertile imagination aided by powerful illicit drugs could be mistaken for a 6. Your bank account statements do not match the new rules published in the Royal Gazette, conveniently before you had a chance to read the translated article. And you were just shy of the 30 days needed before you could apply for the change in status of your current permit to stay in the Kingdom. Back to the drawing board. This time you will get a translator. Someone who speaks flawless English, has never been out of Thailand and has no idea what a psssport is. She will surely help you. Go ahead and try. Then after two or three go-arounds and a possible visit to a local government hospital...call Grace at Thai Visa Center. Pay the 50K. SIt back and wait for the papers to arrive. In the mean time start de-constructing yourself because when you come to Thailand you will find out your whole entire existence has been a lie. Cheers.