Too many days
Adventure #27
In every country there exists a bleak place that inspires such simultaneous stress and boredom that the mere mention of its name induces a wince from any foreigner abroad. Ubiquitously housed in dun, windowless structures and staffed by short-tempered employees, this necessary purgatory is: The Immigration Office.
Over the last four months, I have done my fair share of repenting for any foreign sins inside the space and through the course of my bureaucratic battles, I have picked up a few morsels of collective wisdom I would like to share with any would-be expat.
Everything is a test.
It would seem logical to build an immigration office in a central location where foreigners could easily stumble upon it. Apparently, my visa comment card was not read, because it took a walk, a 25-minute tram ride and a 15-minute bus ride into the sticks to finally arrive at my undesired destination. Upon reflection, it was probably a test: if you aren’t savvy enough to navigate public transit to the offices, you aren’t deserving of a visa.
Always use a blue pen.
If you and your endless required witnesses do not sign all original documents in blue pen, you will be sent home and forced to start the process over. This is a unfortunate lesson to learn, but it also inspired me to learn new local cuss words. If you are even thinking of immigrating to Europe, do yourself a favor and wean yourself off of black ink now.
Stay calm.
As an alternative to repetitively playing grating, demonic music to torture prisoners, I propose using waiting room “ding” sounds. Every time a person in the waiting rooms number is called, a loud, resonating chime sounds, not unlike a school bell. To combat this frustrating monotony bring an Ipod, a loud Ipod - but don’t dare miss your trilling beckoning.
When in doubt, bring the extra paperwork.
Think you won’t need the entire history of your apartment building and the genealogy of all of its former residents? Think again. Bring anything that could possible justify your existence and proves that you do, in fact exist legally. In immigration proceedings, less is never more.
Find your advocate.
After being in the immigration office for multiple days, I began to recognize the regulars, the people who make their living shuffling groups of their African and Chinese comrades through the immigration process. As the only American there, I realized that English speakers need their own immigration godfather. Maybe I should do the job, if it weren’t for the endless dinging. And the public transportation. And my predilection for black ink.
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