By Sally Sanchez
Getting an immigration visa is like playing Cones of Dunshire, the fictional game from Parks and Recreation whose rules are so convoluted that even Ben Wyatt, its creator, can’t explain them. As anyone who’s endured the process will tell you, it’s an emotional roller coaster and an administrative nightmare marked by endless paperwork and instructions that are devoid of any actual instruction.
I spent my first five years in the US holding onto the thread of various H-1B work visas that led to some utterly redonk bureaucratic scuffles, including an HR “snafu” (their word) that forced me back to Blighty and away from my fiancé for six months. During our half-year separation, we decided to finally take on the visa-shaped elephant in the room. Let’s get married, we said, feeling like a couple of gangbangers who wake one day and decide to go legit. And so began our tumultuous green card journey.
Here’s what I learned, which may help those of you looking to make it in — or just to — America.
Get your facts straight #1
The interview starts off slowly and — had I not been paralyzed with fear, I would have noticed — fairly convivially with no-brainers such as “What’s your address?” To which I replied, “2300 America Street, San Fro.” I’m pretty sure that neither “America Street” nor “San Fro” exists. I’m 100 percent sure that’s not my address.
Get your facts straight #2
Applying for a green card through marriage means being asked questions about how, when, and where you and your S.O. met. Rehearsing answers with your other half beforehand can reveal surprising differences of imagination, particularly in a relationship that, like mine, had booze-soaked beginnings. On the other hand, it’s also a great opportunity to remember all the awesome date options in this city: ping-pong at Finnegan’s Wake, cutting a rug at the Saloon, hanging out at your rich mate’s rooftop garden. Who wouldn’t fall in love here?
Don’t go all Downton Abbey
In a misguided attempt to show deference, I went into overdrive with the “Yes, sirs,” “Thank you, sirs,” and “No, sirs” and, to my horror, semi-curtseyed as though auditioning to be a scullery maid. Just don’t do it.
Filter
That cute story about how you met your wife’s family for the first time on a Wednesday and married her two days later now reeks of BS. In general, you should avoid starting sentences with the words “Funny story.” Shush.
Leave brand America at home
Don’t wear a stars-and-stripes T-shirt, tie, or button. In fact, don’t wear anything that could even remotely be labeled “Americana” (this includes your Bruce Springsteen tour tee). This is actual advice from actual lawyers.
Update your cultural references
Can the MacDowell/Depardieu Green Card gags. A glib and very tired crack recalling a 25-year-old film about someone who faked their green-card application is a clear sign you need to a) update your cultural references and b) shush.
Don’t celebrate too early
Staying true to bureaucratic surrealism, our USCIS officer spent a good 10 minutes explaining the immense importance of renewing my newly acquired green card in a couple of years. He drew pictures. He chuckled as he ticked off the dire consequences of not getting it right — lengthy court battles, certain separation from my loved ones, perhaps a propensity to gamble — then he sifted through his three-inch stack of papers, teased out a single damning sheet, and told us we hadn’t made the cut. The heavily stamped document apparently lacked one crucial stamp. Until we fixed that, no green card. So, not a total fail, but not a champagne-chugger either. Which leads me to this:
Choreograph your exit
While waiting to go into the interview, you’ll see people coming out of theirs. Some emerge whooping with joy; others come out sobbing; still others leave with the blank, shell-shocked expression of a Muni passenger trying to avoid a crushing onboard. When we got our “kinda/kinda not” verdict, we decided it was important to project an “It wasn’t a total no” vibe to a room of strangers who could care less. So we shuffled out making animated but mute small talk, like background extras in a sitcom. Like I said, this stuff can drive you crazy.
Important: line up a bar
Whatever the result, you’re going to need a drink.
Live happily ever after
Finally, to anyone going through the visa process, yeah, it sucks, but keep the faith. After a restorative couple of hours mainlining martinis at Vesuvio’s, we went home, ransacked our filing cabinet (a.k.a. a large cardboard box), and found another copy of the document, this one bearing the crucial stamp. Two weeks later, the green card dropped into our mailbox as though it was no big deal. But it was. And finally, champagne was chugged.
All being well, you’ll nail the paperwork; you’ll remember what happened after; you won’t dress as Uncle Sam; and I’m pretty sure you’ll give a better interview than I did. I’m rooting for you.
