Into the Den of Jackels

This post has been a long time coming, but it is still in fresh in my mind as though it were only yesterday.  Knowing myself intimately the way I do, I decided that I should schedule myself a bunch of appointments to help keep myself occupied while I waited impatiently for the interview to come to pass.  The first stop of the day was to get some testing for an allergy study.  They did a blood test and a quick review of my nose and mouth to see if there was anything that was prevent me from qualifying for the study.  I'm hoping I hear back from them since this would potentially add a few extra Benjamins to my wallet at a time when I find myself in need of some extra money.

I arrived at the building where the interview would take place a little earlier than I had hope.  It was closer to 30 minutes before the interview instead of the 15 minutes I had planned on.  This gave me ample time to rifle through the paperwork I brought with me, obtain a paper-cut, put a hole in my nylons, pick at the hangnail next to my new paper-cut, and make a mess out of my hair under the pretense of fixing it.  After seeing the damage I did to my hair in the rear view mirror of my car, I decided it was probably better if I just went in the building to pace about at my leisure.

I got the opportunity to see my all old nemeses, the guards at the USCIS entrance.  It had been well over a year since I had been in this building and so I anticipated that they would not remember me.  I saw the light of recognition in the eyes of one of the guards, the one that resembles the Stay Puft marshmallow man from the classic Ghostbusters movie, but naturally he said nothing.  I was initially turned away because of the contraband in my purse - a small manicure set - which I would obviously use for nefariously cutting the nails of the interviewer so short that their hands would ache for DAYS.  I returned to my car and threw anything that I had that would possibly be objectionable into the trunk of my car, taking care to put the lanyard that had my keys on it around my neck.  I have locked my keys in my truck on several occasions and it is always when at least 15 miles from home.

The second time I confronted security, they attempted to turn me away because I neglected to bring my appointment letter with me.  Naturally someone of my determination was not going to be turned away for so weak a reason.  Recognizing that I was an opponent who would not be cowed or otherwise intimidated, I was allowed to pass without any additional grief.  I ascended the stairs to the third floor waiting room and retired to the bathroom to try to repair the damage I made to my carefully planned hairstyle.  Since I did not have the appointment letter with me, I had to give the receptionist a bunch of information about our case so that she could look up my appointment in the system and mark me as having arrived.  Now all I had left to do was to try not to go crazy while waiting for Lance to show up.

It was about 12:05 pm when Lance and one of his associate attorneys walked in the door.  I asked Lance to go and check in with the receptionist since I didn't have a copy of the appointment letter with me and within a few minutes my name was called.  We were ushered into a little office somewhere within the labyrinth of the USCIS office building and were seated at the other side of a desk that was nearly buried under a small mountain of papers that turned out to be our entire USCIS file.  It consisted of 4 accordion filer folders, filled to the bursting point with paper and one additional folder about half as full as the others.  The interviewer was an almost timid looking man whom Lance greeted by name.  Together they jokingly stated that every time he saw Lance, the file was even larger and more absurd than the last.  Lance agreed but said that ours 'takes the cake'.

The interview took just under 15 minutes, and I tried my hardest to keep it together and limit myself to answering questions.  I did really well, according to Lance, and there was only a minute or two in which he was worried that he would have to whack me.  Naturally this occurred when we were talking about Ashley and the trigger was an offhand comment about her 'adorable' passport picture.  She was 4 months old in that picture, oh course she was adorable and still is adorable.  I got upset over this little observation.  I was upset because of how much time was already lost to us.  Alberto would never get to experience Ashley's first tooth, or step, or word, or attempt at sneakiness.  These times are all gone, and can never be repeated for him.  So much time lost for so much bullshit.  So Much Time.

I don't remember much more of the interview, other than the man saying he would do whatever he could to get this file moving.  It's about goddamned TIME.



I'm too overwhelmed to write more, and in as far as immigration goes there isn't more to write.



Ciao