Let me just explain what it is like to go to the immigration office. You will never cringe at going to the dentist ever again. First, whether going by bus or by car, you travel to what seems like the boondocks. Endless stretches of unrecognizable road, impossible to navigate back. You glance over at the driver or other passengers, nervously biting your lip, because they all seem to stare at you like you are a circus freak. Let’s just say I don’t look the part of a Hungarian out in the sticks (or in the city, for that matter) Forget sore thumb, I feel like necrosis infested amputated foot!
Ok, so you get there – wherever that is. In front of you, is a giant wall, about 10 ft high with barbed wire all around it. What is this, a prison compound? Very few cars go by and very few people walk by. Take a breath and walk in – and the atmosphere suddenly changes. The building is modern with very cottage-like landscaping in front, lots of annuals. (Fun fact – the fine for urinating in public in Hungary is much less than the fine for picking public flowers.)
Once you enter, it goes from prison, to cottage, to the worst place on earth – the DMV (that’s department of motor vehicles for those of you not from the states). The surprisingly courteous security guard hands me a number and tells me to sit and wait. And wait I do…
And wait…
And wait…
Why, oh why, did I not bring a book?
And wait…
I strike up a conversation with the two other foreign students sitting there with me. One from Israel and one from Brunei via elsewhere, I think. Time passes, and we wait. The guy from Brunei is called, but not before he tells me that this is the 5th time he’s had to come to sort out his permit. 5th time?!! I do not have that luxury – I am taking care of this today! The Israeli and I get called up to the majors at the same time. Luckily this is one place where people speak English.
I explained to the gentleman that I hadn’t realized that it expired, that I was busy with school. A reason, any reason to rationalize my utter stupidity. I told him I was leaving the country on Thursday, anyway. I just needed a note so I would not get expelled out of the country. He was very courteous and understanding and professional. He informed me that I could not apply for a new residence permit at the time because it was obviously way too late for that. He said he would have to get his supervisor, for I would have to do a formal interview with an official explaining all of this, in order to get my letter to leave. He asked me to do what…you called it – WAIT!!!
I have to say, I was not entirely bored. It doesn’t seem the right place and time to be listening to an mp3 player (which I was doing on the way to get myself geared up for my trip), so I talked to the Israeli next to me at the next window. He had his own issues. He needed the same letter as me, only he was renewing his residence permit. This was his second visit already. He gave them his 6000ft, only to be told, that the fee would be 7000 more, because his had recently expired. I had only 6000ft worth of stamps with me, which he would buy off me for cash (Considering I wouldn’t need them that day since I was not getting my permit) I am more than willing to oblige a good looking man…ahem…I mean, be a good Samaritan.
I was not devoid of entertainment when the Israeli left, because the representative at the window at end apparently had no voice modulation abilities at all. He was always on full volume. You know when you go out; there are those drunken people that feel the need to talk so LOUD? Imagine that volume in a bureaucratic setting. I had an aversion to him anyway, because the last time I came, he basically told me I would lose my SSN card by tucking it in to my passport. It’s not like I have it there all the time – just to bring the card to office, so it didn’t fall anywhere. He kept telling me long it would take me to replace. I was curious, and asked him if he lived in the states ever and had had one or applied for one. “No, but I imagine it would be a long process for you,” was his retort.
“Umm, ok. Why don’t you just shut it and give me my paper work?” was my response, in my head. I wish I could be that rude sometimes. Sigh. I tuned into the show in progress. He was stating in loud terms, and droning on and on to this Persian boy from Canada that since he was not a resident of Canada, it was not a commonwealth country….listening to a seemingly one sided conversation, as the Persian boy was a very quiet speaker. It was like I was listening on an old radio, with the large knobs that you turn to catch that just out of reach radio station. Oh, and tune back in…”But you can become a resident of Hungary after having a resident permit continuously for three years…..What? But you are not a citizen of Canada yet…Oh, when will you be?” I really should type all of that in caps so you get the full VOLUME effect. Poor kid. The whole office knew his business.
Finally, I get called back into a small windowless office. Uh-oh, no escape route if this all goes pear shaped. (I know, too much Burn Notice) Enter the two immigration officers – what, good cop, bad cop? No, phew, just one has to legally translate everything to me. If I had enough time, I would go through it all – but it would take aaaages, and you would want to crawl out of this room as much as I did. Suffice it to say, that I got my paperwork, so I could leave the country legally and with no issues. So LONDON calling. Here I come!! Or am I? Don’t turn off that radio just yet…because that is a story for another day.
Tags: american, Europe, humor, Immigration, music, permit, residence, Travel
