low point #2

low point:

deep breathes and hands on knees outside of the immigration office to keep from crying.

situation:

The Republic of Ireland requires that international students and international working people register their residency with the government. Translation: get a lot of documents, jump through a lot of hoops, and pay us a lot of money.

Some friends and I got up at 5.30 AM this morning to wait in line outside of the immigration office, aka the Garda, aka men who will eat your soul. This was early. It was dark. I was sleepy and was not feeling so good. We sat outside the office in a line of people until it opened at 7.30. Think immigrants in The States sleeping in front of the DMV. It was misty and cold. We watched the sunrise, but not in the romantic way.

Inside the office I was number 32. We we were nervous because the men were yelling at people and sending them away. I had a questionable bank statement (printed from online) and was sure that they would not take me, but decided to wait and see because I came this far.

I switched numbers with Corrine when my turn came so that I would get the Garda who yelled less. I held my breathe, tried to be strong and handed him my info. He looked at all of it, told me a was missing a signed statement from my landlord and then threw all of the info down in front of me. I asked him if that document was all I needed and he said yes. As I was getting up and the realization that I would have to get up at 5.30 AM tomorrow morning was sinking in, cold-Garda-man offered me a glimmer of hope. He mumbled, "You live close. If you go get it now, I'll let you back in line."

I took this information and ran with it, literally. I power walked to my apartment, found the needed document without waking my roommate and jogged back to the Garda station. I was feeling all victorious because the hassle was going to be worth the relief of having that whole ordeal over with.

Another low/heart breaking point was when I made eye-contact with the officer who recognized me and signaled me up to his desk then I had to explain to this nice young African man who did not speak English very well that I was about to break in front of him even though he had been waiting all morning too. I almost cried then too, it was awful.

I sat down at the same officer's booth after retrieving the last thing he said that I needed. I gave him all of my papers. He looked at them. He tossed them back at me and said "I will not take this bank statement". I asked him some questions with a dry throat and a wobbly voice. I left quickly so that I would not cry and so that the nice African man could have his turn. I only hope his experience was better than mine.