After 9/11: Processed by the INS

I stood in line and waited to be allocated a number. Another hours passed. The man ahead of me was distressed: a big, strapping, capable-looking guy but he was choking on his tears.

I don’t have the receipt.

Well where is the form.

You lost it.

Not me. You’ll have to come back with the receipt or the form.

Then it was my turn and I handed up my Green Card.

You don’t have to renew this. It hasn’t expired.

Yes, I know that, but look at what is written in my passport.

Hum, that is a problem.

A supervisor was summonsed, read my documentation and then swiftly snapped off the edge of my precious Green Card and, on the form I had signed under penalty of perjury, scratched out my ‘n/a’ and put a tick beside ‘mutilated card’.

Take a number and wait over there.

A multilingual video about the friendly Customer Service phone line and how it could save us all a trip to this office played continuously. Another two hours.