Breathes there a man with soul so dead.....

The Scandinavians have it figured out what to call grandparents. Farfar is Dad's Dad, Farmor is Dad's mom, Morfar is Mom's Dad, Mormor is Mom's Mom.




Morfar was naturalized. Farmor never got her US citizenship. My wife is still a Resident Alien. Today she needed to renew her ARC Alien Registration Card, otherwise known as a green card, although it is now pink. Every ten years this needs to be renewed. I am always apprehensive when I need to contact the Federal Government, even more so when they contact me. I tried the website to find out who, what, when and where. Finding the page I needed was not a task. Understanding what was written on those pages was, it makes no difference if you are an English speaking citizen or not. It looked like we would have to reserve a day, get an appointment and travel four hours one way. We asked a friend who works with immigration issues on a daily basis. They called an unpublished number at a more local Immigration Naturalization Service office. We could come there any weekday morning. It was only forty-five minutes away.

We didn't know what to expect. I have bad memories of similar days I spent in similar offices in various European countries. I had hoped today would be a good day, that at the end of the day I would be proud of my native land and the friendly and efficient way my RA had been treated. She was nervous. I went along, just in case I might be needed for something other than moral support.



Three friendly retirement aged gentlemen operate the security station on the ground floor of this Federal Building, almost like it used to at the airport before TSA. We walk into a small seven chair waiting room on the second floor. There is a glass window with a slot cut out of the bottom. There is a doorbell with a sign next to it listing the criteria when not to ring the bell. There is nobody immediately behind the glass and nobody in the waiting room. There is a Young Man seated alone further back in the adjoining office. When he sees my RA behind the glass he comes forward and they start the process. My RA has the form, she fills it out with his help. My RA has the two passport front faced recent photos, the expiring ARC, the extra picture identification, the check for $185 ready. This is going to be easy. Please put your right index finger under the glass, keep it flat and do not push down. He inks her finger and presses it down to the glass. Have a seat, this will take just a few minutes. I wonder if he is in the back office running her data through his computer. I expect NYM might come back with a new ARC and we can go our happy way. This is my own, my native land, proud, free, friendly, automated and efficient.

A somewhat disheveled woman of about seventy carrying a cane comes in and plops into one of the two much too low chairs in front of the glass. Her hair is silver and straight. She is here for her RA, a professor husband, born in Oz, still going strong at seventy-three. He needs his ARC renewed, but has decided that he is now angry enough at the government that for the first time in forty years he wants to vote. "Please be so kind as to give me both forms to complete." Presto appears Smiling Immigration Officer behind the window. "Your government would like to save you $185. Just fill out the naturalization papers and we will extend his ARC while his naturalization in being processed." Smiles all around. This is my own, my native land, proud, free, friendly, automated and efficient.

In walks a very frazzled fiftyish man with two crutches and what appears to be double prostheses. Somehow this poor man has lost his identity. It shows. He wants to get a copy of his naturalization papers so he can get a Social Security card, a passport, a driver's license. After three words of rant, NYM behind the window reaches for the brochure on the top of the stack with the 800 number to the office in the Big City four hours away by car. Mr. Frazzle is very perceptive (Viet Nam/Gulf Vet?) and the reach pushes him off his cliff. He throws his stack of papers against the window. SIO appears out of thin air and pleads for Mr. Frazzle to refrain from mistreating NYM who, she says, is a contractor, not a Federal employee. Mr. Frazzle pleads for Nice Young Contracted Man to please walk back to his computer and print out the form he needs to bring to Big City INS. "Sorry sir, he is not allowed to do that." Mr. Frazzle gathers his papers and crutches and urges all four of us to take whatever it is we have and stick it where the sun never shines. Before going out the door he breaks another Commandment and says something so disrespectful about the Land of the Free that I am sure that if they can find out who he is, it is on his permanent Homeland Security digital record already. I was thankful for the metal detector downstairs. I had been in the waiting room less than thirty minutes. No wonder this office is open mornings only.


NYCM opens the door to his office and asks my RA to please step inside. The fingerprints are not clear. After three more attempts he succeeds. Why there is no digital fingerprint reader like at the INS counter in the arrival halls at major airports puzzles me. Please take a seat again, it will be just a few more minutes. Three hyper Bosnian women and a young Bosnian with spike sideburns who speaks English enter the waiting room. They want to talk to the guys from the Big City INS who were supposed to be here today, but are not.

NYCM comes to the window. Here is your old ARC which we have extended for twelve months. You should get your new ARC in about twelve months. Here is a final paper (a satisfaction survey) that I want you to fill out completely and put it in the metal box to your right when finished. Thank you.