Red Tape
Oh I how I love government bureaucracy! NOT!!! My husband, not yet an American citizen, has lived in the United States for most of his life. He will be 50 in a couple of months, and it is time to renew his driver's license. Because he is an immigrant, he was unable to go to the local Department of Motor Vehicles to renew his license. We decided to make a family outing of it, and we all piled into the car yesterday afternoon to visit the DMV. My husband was armed with a folder full of paperwork.
We arrived at the DMV, my husband signed in, took his eye test, and was seated. When my husband's number was called, he went disappeared into the room reserved for foreigners seeking their driver's license.
(Note: You have to understand that my husband has been driving legally in the United States for all of his adult life and has never had a problem getting a driver's license. )
When he came out, he was crestfallen. They want my my original social security card, and they want a copy of my birth certificate from Montreal. Yikes. So we decided to take a drive over to the social security office to get a replacement card (My husband's had long since disappeared.)
At the Social Security Office, we took a number and were seated. After a 20 minute wait, we went to the window. I needed a replacement card, too, so I gave the woman my information and a picture ID. She filled out the paperwork and told me the card would be in the mail.
Not so for my poor husband. He gave them the information, handed them his picture ID, and they wanted more information. So he pulled out his green card and handed it to the woman. She disappeared into another room with his card. A few minutes later a man came back with my husband's card in his hand. Do you need this replacement card right away? I am going to have to send this to Atlanta, it's not in our computer. Maybe you need to go to immigration. "All I want is a replacement card," my husband said. It's not like I'm applying for a new one. I've been using this number for over 30 years. What is the problem?" The woman gave my husband a blank look.
The man disappeared and came back with a sheet of paper with the directions to the immigration office. It was getting late in the afternoon, so we hurried to the car with our children in tow (poor things, they had to sit through all this with us) and headed for the Immigration. We were almost there when it started to pour down rain. (That should have been a sign.) We pulled up to the door. "Closed" Hours Monday through Friday 8:00 -2:00. What! They close at 2:00? Why so early? Now it was really raining.
"I'm going to go postal!" my husband exclaimed. "Or maybe I should move to Canada with my Aunt." "We could come visit you once a year," I chimed in. My husband groaned. "I've got to get my citizenship sorted out, or maybe I should have lied and said I was an American, they didn't have that in their silly computer."
So where do we go from here? My husband has to get a copy of a birth certificate that doesn't exist. (They didn't issue them in Canada when he was born.) He has to renew his green card for $370 before he can get a Social security card, and then finally he can get his driver's license.
Ever hear the words Red Tape?
We arrived at the DMV, my husband signed in, took his eye test, and was seated. When my husband's number was called, he went disappeared into the room reserved for foreigners seeking their driver's license.
(Note: You have to understand that my husband has been driving legally in the United States for all of his adult life and has never had a problem getting a driver's license. )
When he came out, he was crestfallen. They want my my original social security card, and they want a copy of my birth certificate from Montreal. Yikes. So we decided to take a drive over to the social security office to get a replacement card (My husband's had long since disappeared.)
At the Social Security Office, we took a number and were seated. After a 20 minute wait, we went to the window. I needed a replacement card, too, so I gave the woman my information and a picture ID. She filled out the paperwork and told me the card would be in the mail.
Not so for my poor husband. He gave them the information, handed them his picture ID, and they wanted more information. So he pulled out his green card and handed it to the woman. She disappeared into another room with his card. A few minutes later a man came back with my husband's card in his hand. Do you need this replacement card right away? I am going to have to send this to Atlanta, it's not in our computer. Maybe you need to go to immigration. "All I want is a replacement card," my husband said. It's not like I'm applying for a new one. I've been using this number for over 30 years. What is the problem?" The woman gave my husband a blank look.
The man disappeared and came back with a sheet of paper with the directions to the immigration office. It was getting late in the afternoon, so we hurried to the car with our children in tow (poor things, they had to sit through all this with us) and headed for the Immigration. We were almost there when it started to pour down rain. (That should have been a sign.) We pulled up to the door. "Closed" Hours Monday through Friday 8:00 -2:00. What! They close at 2:00? Why so early? Now it was really raining.
"I'm going to go postal!" my husband exclaimed. "Or maybe I should move to Canada with my Aunt." "We could come visit you once a year," I chimed in. My husband groaned. "I've got to get my citizenship sorted out, or maybe I should have lied and said I was an American, they didn't have that in their silly computer."
So where do we go from here? My husband has to get a copy of a birth certificate that doesn't exist. (They didn't issue them in Canada when he was born.) He has to renew his green card for $370 before he can get a Social security card, and then finally he can get his driver's license.
Ever hear the words Red Tape?
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