I fear I shall die in Casablanca.

I am reminded of the opening of "Casablanca" where the narrator details the plight of those poor souls attempting to flee Europe finding themselves trapped. “Here the fortunate ones, through money, or influence, or luck, might obtain exit visas and security to Lisbon, and from Lisbon to the New World. But the others wait in Casablanca. -- and wait -- and wait -- and wait."

It's been three weeks since my interview with The School and I still
haven't heard anything. I've left a few messages and sent an e-mail or two with no response. I would normally expect things to take quite some time but when the person who I interviewed with said that she would contact me "next week", I assumed that she actually did mean "next week." If she hadn't said that, I could well imagine a dozen reasons for it to take longer than that.

Instead, I wait. And wait. And wait. The Help Desk is my own Occupied Europe and my escape is prevented, not by evil Corporate Overlords but by what I suspect to be simple bureaucratic delay.