A Brazilian friend of mine was walking along on a residential street in Vancouver, when suddenly a squirrel runs down a tree and stations himself in her path on the sidewalk. Having never seen a squirrel before, she panicked. What was she to do? Walk toward it? What if it attacked or jumped on her? Was she to make a loud noise and scare it away or roll over and play dead until it went back up the tree? All the while my friend was debating what to do, the squirrel was sitting there, casually chewing a chestnut and non-nonchalantly ignoring her. Is this an exhaustion rendering unpredictable Canadian experience? Maybe it is... Let see, what about this?
-To apply for a permanent visa, I will need a passport and a social insurance number, then you come back to see me, says the friendly notary.
-Alright, we don't have a social insurance number. How can we get one?
-Well, you need a permanent visa.
My husband take a giant breath....
-I heard the notary down the street only needs a passport. Let's go there, says my slightly annoyed husband having taken the morning off work to get this paperwork done.
We walk, walk, walk... we get a number and we wait.
-Yes, I need only a passport for your application.
-Great! Here it is!
-Oh, but it needs to be translated.
We walk, walk, walk... we ring the doorbell and we wait.
-Yes, I can translate your passport for you, it will take three days.
-Okay then, here it is.
-We walk, walk, walk... get in the car and pull out of the underground parking lot when I notice some men dangling strings of shrimp along the road. Okay, then. Just in case I have didn't have any ideas for dinner. We drive across town to the international airport. We park.
The Federal Police Department is full of people waiting. We wait in line at a reception counter. Having experienced American airport security, I expect overly serious service, nervous that if I smile I will be taken away for "inspection" for suspicious behavior, but the Brazilian federal officers at the counter are dressed in jeans and t-shirts and process the line as if we were at a McDonald's. I can almost hear their flip-flops as they walk back and forth.
- Tourist visa extension? Anyone order a tourist visa extension? Mr. Enrique Pablo? Anyone named Enrique Pablo in the room?
We get a number. And we wait.
- Yes, you can apply for your visa here. Please take this number.
And we wait.
-Yes, you seem to have most of the paper necessary for your permanent visa application, but you are missing some of these documents, have those signed and notarized and come back next week.
Meanwhile next to us, a woman is talking to another officer.
-You're here to apply as a refugee? asks the officer.
-Yes. answers the woman.
-But you can't just scratch out " tourist visa" and write in refugee!"
The officer turns to his co-workers in the office and yells out to them laughing, she's claiming to be a refugee!! The woman, shyly smiles, like she kinda knew she wouldn't get away with it.
So...
We walk, walk, walk and drive back across town to the Government Revenue building which is heavily guarded by a lethargic pack of 6 feral cats. We wait in line, and get a number. We wait, wait, wait.
-Yes, you have some of the right papers, but you need an social insurance number application which you can obtain at any post office.
That was Thursday.
Friday, my husband was patiently waiting in line in our car for an "aircare" inspection, when a lady in the line-up next to her, the line up for new cars, suddenly took off, flew over a ditch and smashed into another. Unrelated to my social insurance number, but unpredictably random.
Today, we drive. We park. We go to the post office. We wait in line.
- Yes, that's right, but we don't do social insurance number applications on Saturdays because our system is down. You'll have to come back next week.
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| She walked away shaken, but the new car.... |
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