Now I know why they hate us so

I used to think Bolivia's anti-Americanism was rooted in a perception that our government meddles in its own, or that our aggressive multinational companies have pillaged its economy.
No.
It's that the first person visitors to the embassy meet is the nastiest, most officious puta Bolivia has to offer.
I had to drop my passport off there to get a visa extension.
But first I needed to get past this hag. She faces the street in a small office cloistered behind a thick glass window.
"Hola. I have a meeting with Diego (the guy in charge of Fulbrights) please."
She points to a phone on my side of the glass, but doesn't look up from her newspaper.
I pick it up. She picks her phone up, but still doesn't look up.
"Hola. I have a meeting with Diego," I repeat.
"Call him then." She gives me his extension and points to another phone.
I get his voicemail.
I pick up the phone connecting the receptionist to the outside world again. She looks up, annoyed.
"Hi. Could you please page him? He is expecting me."
"Can't you wait?" she said. She then hangs up her phone and continues to read.
I tap on the glass and point to the phone again. She picks up her end.
"He doesn't know I'm here. I would like you to page him please. Can you try his secretary?"
She shakes her head, hangs up her phone and picks up another phone, dials and extension and starts talking. I can't hear the conversation.
She then hangs up the phone and starts reading again.
I look at Sonya. Sonya nods. I tap on the glass again and point to the phone.
"What did the secretary say?"
"She said to wait."
"Did you tell her who I was?"
"No. You never told me."
"Tell her I'm Andrew Glazer. Diego is expecting me."
"Can't you wait?"
"No."
She dials again. Five minutes later, Diego is downstairs.