Immigration6

The next communication with Immigration was in June, I received another appointment, this time for fingerprinting. Full set this time, not just the one finger that had been required for my work permit. Back into the city, but a different building. Mike again accompanied me and we arrived to find a queue standing outside. Fearing the worst, we took our place and waited. A nice surprise to find our selves inside within a very short time, even nicer to find the staff extremely pleasant, with humour intact. I was processed with courtesy and promptness. Their compatriots at the other building could take lessons from these staff. We made our journey back home to await the next stage of the process of becoming a resident, never knowing just when, or what, that next stage would be. The months passed by, no word from Immigration on my residency. The 300 days had elapsed, but I had already learnt that the time they quote has no relevance to the actual time processing will take. Like the Employment Authorisation, everything will be accomplished in their own good time.
   In December 2000 I had to make an emergency trip home and therefore, again apply for Advance Parole. Putting aside the thoughts of that long queue and the possibility of encountering the same woman behind the counter, I made my early train ride into the city alone, Mike remaining at home to try and make flight arrangements for me. My previous visits to the office had me frustrated and humiliated during the whole procedure, but this time, it was a deep resentment that I felt. There is no provision for emergency applications so, whatever the reason for one having to return to their homeland, one must stand in that queue, be herded like cattle to finally reach a counter where there was no guarantee of being permitted to move on to the next stage.
    I had covered everything to ensure I wouldn't be turned away. I was early which meant I would, or should, be among the allocation of Paroles granted that day. I had every document, and more, that they could ask for. I had the cheque already written out for the fee. (Interesting to discover that, the fee can be paid, by cheque or cash, but, if using cash, it must be exact. No change is given!)
   Arriving at the building, I made my way to the end of the queue, no need to ask this time, I knew the procedure oh too well. A reasonably good start, it was 8am. Raining again, but his time, I had an umbrella which I shared with the woman standing beside me. It was obvious she was a newbie at this while I was now a seasoned veteran. With the outside stretch of the process only about an hour's duration, things were looking promising. Maybe, I might be on my way home by early afternoon. Wrong!!
   Inside the holding pen, again hearing the command to "Move up close to the next person", it was another hour before I was among the next group being herded through to the hallway where the metal scanner stood. About 30 minutes later, I was through that and again weaving my way slowly through the maze, edging closer and closer to the counter.
   Hearing the welcomed, but not welcoming, "Next", I approached the counter. My stomach took a large dive, I was looking into the face of the woman I had encountered on my previous visits. Does this woman never leave here?? Doesn't she have a life??? Had she somehow found out I was coming in today and arranged to be here just to make my day??? With her arrogant look focused on me, she glanced at the papers and asked who had filed the Adjustment of Status application. Silently wondering what the hell that had to do with the application I was making that day, I told her that we, Mike and I, had. At this, she almost jumped over the counter to inform me that I couldn't do it, it had to be done for me.
   What followed felt like an inquisition! Question after question, all answered with, as far as she was concerned, unsuitable answers. After informing me that as I had been sponsored, my sponsor had been the one who filed the application. Proving her authority, she stamped my paper and sent me to the next room, the cashier's office. I was left wondering just what part I played in the filing of the application for Adjustment, as far as I knew, Mike and I had done this together, but obviously, I was wrong!.
   Fee paid, and at 11.30 I was again in the large waiting room. Handing in my stamped paper at the reception counter I found a seat I settled in for a long wait as there was nothing to indicate that it would be any different than any other time.