My Least Favourite Waste of Time

Hands up, who remembers Owen Paul? No, neither do I. But I do remember his 1986 smash hit, My Favourite Waste of Time. Well, the chorus at least. Here’s the BBC flickbook to listen to as you read the conclusion of my green card quest.

So, how far had I got into my green card tale? We went back at 8am on Thursday and saw immigration officer Pale. She sat at a desk behind a glass window. The immigration office is set up like a bank in a depressed area, as if a disgruntled and impoverished green card applicant is going to burst in with a gun and demand $100,000 in used notes. “I can’t do anything right now,” officer Pale said, “because your file is in Lincoln, Nebraska.” Quite why my file was in Lincoln is a mystery. Last time we’d checked, the national processing centre was in Missouri. It could well have moved. “I’ll get them to fax it over. They are supposed to review the decision and send us a reply in three hours. Can you come back in three hours?”

We killed three hours in the snappily named Westfield Shoppingtown Downtown Plaza. Most American towns don’t have town centres as such. They have malls, normally out of town. Sometimes, like this one, they are closer to the town centre. Nothing in the shoppingtown downtown plaza was open until 10am. There’s nothing quite as stimulating as a sleeping shopping mall.

At 11.30am we returned to the immigration office. “Sorry,” said Pale “they haven’t sent it through yet. Can you come back in two hours?” No, we couldn’t, I explained. I had to go to work in the afternoon. “Oh well, that’s no problem.” she said. “I’m always here Monday through Friday, 7am to 3pm. When I get the file I’ll send you a letter and you can just drop in here and I’ll put a stamp in your passport.” Before I left she took my fingerprints again, just in case.

On Saturday we received notice from the immigration officer that the file had arrived and so, on Monday we returned to the office. The blinds were down over officer Pale’s window. We knocked on the window, but there was no answer. I waited in case she returned and Courtney wandered off to investigate. I looked around the immigration office, more of a hall, really. Facing the wall of windows are five or six rows of hard wooden benches. The hall was full of people from different nations united in boredom and frustration. An older asian man sat next to a younger asian woman, silently clutching a folder in his knuckles. Both stared vacantly into the middle-distance. Was she his daughter or his bride? A hispanic family were engaged in animated discussion with the immigration officer to my left. The wrong form had been completed and they hadn’t submitted enough photographs. A woman wearing Italianate clothes made a brave attempt to recline comfortably on the bench. Her little handbag made a poor pillow. In the corner a TV installed to keep children amused played Disney. Tigger bounced around the screen singing about how happy he was to have a family. There were no children in sight.

Courtney returned from the take a ticket room. “Officer Pale’s off sick.” she announced. We couldn’t ask to see another officer because you can’t see officers without an appointment. There was no way we could make an appointment in the building. The only way to get an appointment is to use the USCIS website. There was nothing to do but leave and try again another day. Of course, our next attempt would be a shot in the dark too. The USCIS do not divulge the numbers of the regional offices, so there was no way we could ring ahead to make sure officer Pale would be installed behind her window next time we went.

Yesterday was Thursday. For some reason the immigration office is much quieter on Thursdays and Fridays. Officer Pale was there, our file was there, and her stamp was ready. Ten minutes later we were back outside in the sunshine, grateful to have finally corrected someone else’s mistake. “Whoever did your file made a lot of mistakes,” Officer Pale told us. Slam-dunk man’s inability to do his job all those months ago has caused us at least eight hours of wasted time. Here’s to Slam-dunk man. We salute you and your spectacular incompetence.

But! The good news! I am now clear to come back home for the summer! For those who are asking (and are too lazy to use the search feature on the top right of the blog, Kelvin) Liam and Courtney’s world tour of England and a bit of Wales and the Czech Republic kicks off on 1st August and ends on 16th September.