Hell Revisited
Is it bad that today, on my 6th visit to the Ministry of Immigration, I found myself, in the midst of the chaos, hoping to be deported just so that I might be spared from the aggravation of one more journey into the 7th ring of Hell? Seriously, I can’t even begin to describe the way my blood pressure rises as I walk through those grimy, dilapidated doors. I applied for a temporary permit (basically a legal document that proves I am in the country as a volunteer doing nothing but throwing my money into this fine economy) almost a month ago. It was supposed to be approved within 2 weeks. In fact, my tourist visa has already run out. So here I sit at the mercy of this government. God help me.
Today was priceless. The entire immigration staff takes a full 2-hour lunch from 12:30 to 2:30. On this occasion like many others before, I showed up in my usual fashion about 2:25 to catch their afternoon session of harassing foreigners. At 2:34, the large woman that occupies the small desk in the unmarked room that I have now come to vaguely understand the purpose of (due to my many visits and many observations of someone thumbing through the pile of kindergarten scribbled, construction paper folders that never seem to have my permit in them), doing lord knows what, slammed the door closed with a shout that about why wasn’t time to open yet when the man in front of me knocked on it expecting to be waited on. “Oh, I guess she hasn’t been able to finish her goat sandwich in that short 2 hour lunch marathon,” I thought.
Finally, after a long enough line had formed outside of her door, the woman beckoned us in and methodically seated her first three victims while another man took my receipt and shuffled through these makeshift files, in no apparent order, in search of one with my name on it. After some time, he went to his desk and began to flip the pages of a large legal ledger pad with thousands of names and numbers written in it. Then, all of the sudden, he tossed me the ledger and told me to look through it and find my name! What!? Was he serious? There had to be 6 million names in the tablet and I’m pretty sure that a) it’s not legal for me to be in possession of all these people’s personal stats, and b) more importantly, THAT’S HIS JOB NOT MINE!!! I could have screamed. After a 2-hour lunch you would think this guy would be raring to go and excited to fulfill his employment duties that involve facilitating me raising the GDP of his country. Clearly not.
All the while this was going on, the large woman sitting there behind her desk sucking the goat our of her teeth was carrying on a conversation of a personal nature with the other large women in this office that is about the size of a small bathroom. The second woman was showing off her fine multitasking skills by keeping up her interoffice conversation while simultaneously yelling out the window to her husband? lunch date, reminding him what a “naughty boy he is.” Definitely not something I wanted to hear.
So, after a pretty half-hearted, exasperated effort to find my name in the vastness of this list (btw, I had NO idea what this was a list of and why that lazy man thought my name should be on it), my mind drifted off somewhere to the Fall in the Blue Ridge Mountains that I was missing at home and a strange thought of finding just one competent government employee and the realization that I would most definitely have to endure this day yet again. And then suddenly I had an intense desire, right then and there, to be deported. Weird.
Today was priceless. The entire immigration staff takes a full 2-hour lunch from 12:30 to 2:30. On this occasion like many others before, I showed up in my usual fashion about 2:25 to catch their afternoon session of harassing foreigners. At 2:34, the large woman that occupies the small desk in the unmarked room that I have now come to vaguely understand the purpose of (due to my many visits and many observations of someone thumbing through the pile of kindergarten scribbled, construction paper folders that never seem to have my permit in them), doing lord knows what, slammed the door closed with a shout that about why wasn’t time to open yet when the man in front of me knocked on it expecting to be waited on. “Oh, I guess she hasn’t been able to finish her goat sandwich in that short 2 hour lunch marathon,” I thought.
Finally, after a long enough line had formed outside of her door, the woman beckoned us in and methodically seated her first three victims while another man took my receipt and shuffled through these makeshift files, in no apparent order, in search of one with my name on it. After some time, he went to his desk and began to flip the pages of a large legal ledger pad with thousands of names and numbers written in it. Then, all of the sudden, he tossed me the ledger and told me to look through it and find my name! What!? Was he serious? There had to be 6 million names in the tablet and I’m pretty sure that a) it’s not legal for me to be in possession of all these people’s personal stats, and b) more importantly, THAT’S HIS JOB NOT MINE!!! I could have screamed. After a 2-hour lunch you would think this guy would be raring to go and excited to fulfill his employment duties that involve facilitating me raising the GDP of his country. Clearly not.
All the while this was going on, the large woman sitting there behind her desk sucking the goat our of her teeth was carrying on a conversation of a personal nature with the other large women in this office that is about the size of a small bathroom. The second woman was showing off her fine multitasking skills by keeping up her interoffice conversation while simultaneously yelling out the window to her husband? lunch date, reminding him what a “naughty boy he is.” Definitely not something I wanted to hear.
So, after a pretty half-hearted, exasperated effort to find my name in the vastness of this list (btw, I had NO idea what this was a list of and why that lazy man thought my name should be on it), my mind drifted off somewhere to the Fall in the Blue Ridge Mountains that I was missing at home and a strange thought of finding just one competent government employee and the realization that I would most definitely have to endure this day yet again. And then suddenly I had an intense desire, right then and there, to be deported. Weird.
posted by Jeff and Stacey at 7:02 AM
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