I received an email from Molly last Friday stating that the Waiver was on its way to Immigration in a very large FedEx box. Did she really say it was in a very large FedEx box? I can only imagine how much they added to the information and documents I provided to warrant the use of a very large FedEx box. I asked her to email me a copy of the waiver rather than print it, and she responded the PDF was well over 25 MB in size – larger that her outbound email maximum. I’ll have to make time to get down to their office and have her copy it onto my flash drive then. I’m sure it will be interesting reading.
I am getting more than a little tired of going to these bogus immigration hearings. It always seems to me like I am immersed in a Monty Python movie and it’s only a matter of time until someone says ‘ne’.
I entered the dismal lair of immigration hell, understanding that nothing would take place today. The minions of evil chortled gleefully when they searched my purse and found a digital camera that had been there since the day before. The ordered me to return the ‘contraband’ to my vehicle, feeling triumphant in inconveniencing someone. When I returned from the brief trip to my vehicle, they demanded the reason for my visit again. I gritted my teeth against my own hostility and replied in an almost pleasant voice that I was here for my husband’s hearing. Pillsbury dough-boy attempted to illicit a reaction from me by pawing through my purse again. After my purse was returned, I made a point of inspecting the contents. I muttered loud enough to make sure one of the guards heard take stock of my belongings and state ‘good it’s all still here’. I won’t play ball with these people, but I enjoy making sure they know I don’t trust them at all.
I made my way down to the pit of despair; a windowless room with rubberized flooring that stinks of hopeless tears and curses of the persecuted. There are 9 chairs lining the walls of the room arranged so that we can all see the fear in each other’s eyes. I arrived to find the room nearly empty but for two attorneys, when typically it is full of family defending their loved ones from the jaws of the beast. One of the attorneys I had seen before, a slender woman with dark curly hair who discussed knitting with me two weeks ago. I assumed the other woman was the attorney representing us on behalf of Lance this morning, a lovely Hispanic woman by the name of Graciela. She was wearing four inch heels which gave me the impression of a shorter individual, and a suit that was as elegant as it was simple. I’m allowed to be flatted that she though I was an attorney until I mentioned one of the oddities of our case which she has studied over the weekend. I don’t pretend to know as much about immigration as an attorney might, however, I am well versed in the particulars of our own case which gives the impression that I am what I am not. I think Graciela was expecting a Hispanic woman after having met Alberto in jail the previous week to obtain his signatures for the Waiver packet.
The hearing took all of five minutes, we entered the pleadings, and advised the government that the Waiver Packet was well on its way to USCIS officials in Chicago for processing. Judge Whatshisface had not read the Motions that were filed last week, and Drew Carey responded that the government would need to have 10 days to respond. I’m not getting my hopes up that the government might just release Alberto from jail, however, the judge is obligated to make a decision and will have ample time to do so. I was a bit surprised to see the ringleader, Boris Badenov, not present for this hearing. I’m guessing that since he was previously warned Lance would not be here today, that Drew Carey could handle it alone. They tried to steamroll Graciela, but she held her own nicely and after the hearing she explained everything to Alberto for me.
I enjoyed talking to my husband through the glass pane in the visitor’s room since it had been a while since I’d seen him face to face. He’s feeling a little down in spirit and I tried my hardest to make him smile or laugh. In the end we will see that it was worth it, but how in the world do I deal with it all today?
“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.”
Mary Anne Radmacher
Ciao
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