Rubberstamp stress
“Oh it’s just a rubberstamp process.” The woman at the work-abroad program office said that repeatedly. “When your visa runs out, just tell them you want to go tour around and spend some of your money, they’ll extend your visa, no worries at all!” So we didn’t worry.
Just short of six months later, a week before our visas ran out, I called the immigration office at Edinburgh airport. “We’ve been here almost six months, we’ve not traveled the countryside and we’d like to, can we get a two week extension?”
“No bother, just come out to the airport.”
“How do I find your office?”
“Oh, not our office, the office at Glasgow airport.”
“What’s their number?”
“You don’t need it, just go in and explain the situation.”
So we did. On the day our visas expired. We waited because wanted a few more work days, for the money. It was a Monday. We took the bus over. It took longer than we thought and it was hard to find the immigration office in the maze of the airport. We waited in the waiting room from 11:15 till noon, when they closed the office for an hour and a half lunch. We wandered nearby, came back to the airport office. Waited. The clerk called my name. I explained.
“You’ll need a letter from your bank.”
“The office at Edinburgh airport said we didn’t need anything but our passports.”
“You’re not at Edinburgh airport. This is the office that makes the decision.”
We left. And realized that the next morning we would be officially overstaying our visa. We went back in. And waited. The clerk called my name.
“I just spoke to you, you said to come back tomorrow… but my visa expires today.”
“Just come back tomorrow like we told you, it will be fine.”
“Can I get that in writing? I’m worried about a penalty for overstaying.”
“There won’t be a penalty.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but the Edinburgh office told me things you said were inaccurate, what if I come back tomorrow and speak to someone who tells me something different from you?”
She sighed, looked at me over the top of her glasses. “You need proof you have sufficient funds.”
“I have two hundred pounds.”
“That’s not enough for two weeks.”
“I only want to backpack in the country and I’ve been living on that for most of my time here, in Edinburgh - I just got a raise at my temp job two months ago. I was making 3.80 for 20 hours a week, I make 5.15 an hour now for 40 hours a week, and I have another paycheck coming on Friday.”
She sighed again. “How do I know you have that? You have to prove it.”
“What if I get an ATM receipt?”
“That’s not proof.”
“What if I go withdraw all my money from the ATM and show you the cash.”
She paused, tapped her pen on the edge of her desk four times in rhythm. Tap tap tap tap. “You could try that.”
We walk over to the ATM. I withdraw two hundred. My girlfriend withdraws two hundred. We walk back. We sit. We wait. The clerk calls my name. I show her the money in my wallet, count it out. She scowls. She takes our passports, rolls down the shutter over her window. We sit. We wait. The office closes at 4:00. It’s 3:55. We’re sweating and tapping our feet and chewing fingernails. CHUNK. CHUNK. I don’t know what that sound is. I hear the rattle of the window shutter rolling back up. The clerk calls my name, hands us two passports stamped for a two week visa extension. I smile and thank her. She looks at me without smiling.
"You’re welcome.”