Immigration5

Mid March, I received a copy of the cheque. Now, I could question just where my promised work permit was. As I should have expected, nothing is easy. I couldn't just ring the office and ask someone about it, I had to either write, or go to the office in person. Doing anything to avoid going to the office, with pen in hand, I laboured over my letter, wanting it to be firm, at the same time, not wanting to draw negative attention to myself. That letter was not responded to. I do know that it was received as I had sent it by registered mail. So much for demanding my Employment Authorisation!!
The next communication was to go in for my Social Security number. Having an SS # must mean my work permit was not far behind?? Wrong!!!
Because we were sure that I would not have to spend hours waiting, I convinced Mike that there was no point in both of us making the long trip into the city, for something that would take such a short time. After all, I did have an appointment. Back to the same building, but this time, I went through the front entrance, the entrance for those with appointments. Another scanner and for the first time, I was stopped from picking up my bag. (I knew there were no handcuffs in it!) What I did have was a small pair of nurse's scissors. I was sternly informed that these were going to be confiscated and would not be returned. Please note, in the previous visits to this building, I had been through the scanners more than a dozen times. Each time we left the building for anything, (usually a cigarette), we had to pass through the scanner again, and not once had I been stopped because of those scissors, but this time, they want them?? I was reluctant to hand over the scissors, they were my late mothers and therefore treasured, so I accepted the suggestion that I take them outside and bury them in the garden. I did this, reclaiming them as I left the building on my way home.
Locating the room where I would receive the SS#, a surprise awaited me. No queue, no maze barrier. Getting a number at the door from a bored looking staff member, I joined the others sitting waiting to be called. A little over an hour and it was my turn. After answering a few questions, I was issued with a small blue card bearing my number. I was getting somewhere, I now had an SS number. That must mean I was someone!!

   The wait for my work permit continued. Now mid April and a letter arrived, instructing me to appear at the office on April 20th. Mike and I made the train ride yet again, how I was beginning to dislike that ride, the only consolation was that, as I had an appointment, we didn't have to leave home so early. The front entrance again, and, putting my bag through the scanner, I realised that the scissors were still in my bag. As I have carried them for years, I never think to take them out. Holding my breath, I waited. Nothing was said about them!!! Grabbing my bag, I decided not to question the guard as to the discrepancy.
   Mike and I were getting to know the building well and were soon at the designated room. We were both feeling a little disappointed when we found it was the same room as when I had applied for Parole in December, but, as I had an appointment, we were confident that it wouldn't be as long a wait. Passing the letter over to the clerk, we were told to take a seat. How tired I was to become of that direction. An hour passed by, then another. I almost jumped when I heard my name instructing me, along with 5 others, to go to the "side door". From here, we were led behind the counter, a brief stop to be fingerprinted and then further on to be photographed. This completed, it was back to our seats to wait some more.
   Two hours later, I was again called, this time, to the counter. Here I was presented with my work card. A small laminated card with my photo, and a fingerprint, on it. But oh, how important a card. I could now join the working masses. Happily, despite the time taken, we made the trek to the train station. Mission accomplished!
   I had taken advantage of being in the office to check on the status of my Advance Parole as Mike and I planned to go to Niagara Falls in a few weeks. Armed with the information that this document was valid for 6 months, I could safely leave the US to meet with friends on the Canadian side of the Falls. What I wasn't told though, was that any Immigration officer has the right, or feels they have the right, to continually question as to how, and why, I initially came to the US. On our exit from Canada, we were directed to pull over to the side where the immigration/customs offices were. Here, I was called into an inner office and Mike was ordered to wait in the waiting room. The questioning began.......among the questions were "Why, and under what visa plan, did I come to the US the previous September?" .........."Did I come with the intention of marrying in the US?" Hiding the contempt I was now feeling, I answered the questions, obviously satisfactorily as my papers and passport was handed back and I was sent on my way again.