Speaking of Aliens

Blog chronology is a bit awkward, no? My brother could write a post or 40 about this. But that artful transition in the title, Speaking of Aliens, as I was last post, works much better in book format. Or better still when they make the movie.

As to aliens... Gisela is now a resident one. We managed to pass our greencard interview with flying colors. Sort of. My portuguese is coming along slowly, and it often takes repeating things before I can comprehend them. I now know "O Thomas respondeu tudo errado" cold. It's not true that I answered everything wrong. Everyone should have a brazilian wife because that kind of impassioned exaggeration is mostly very charming. And also because that charm often more than compensates for when I'm not exactly helping our cause. It is true that I was the weak link in our team.

In my defense, they really tighten your strings before hitting you with the interrogation. There's a well-worn sign posted at the counter when you check in for your appointment that says "On average it is a 2-3 hour wait ONCE you check in for your appointment". Someone had pencilled in "It's True" right underneath that. Everywhere else you look: "No Eating, No Drinking, No Cell Phones".

And it's only fluorescent lighting in the waiting room, which means there are 2 or 3 tubes up there somewhere in the ceiling that are throwing off their last photons or whatever and making, in this case, a very sinister buzzing noise that sounds like an arc welder is being put to inappropriate use. Added to this (and who knows if this was all just part of the funhouse script) but we ran into another lawyer on our way up and he just gave us one bad prediction after another, warning us especially about an Officer Green.

So we sit there for hours, nervous, starving, thirsty, a total communication blackout, trying to rub the white noise out of ears, and everytime we think they're going to call our name, we have to panic "Christ, is that Officer Green?" By 3:30 I was ready to tell them where Osama bin Laden is.

Finally an Officer Kustarova does call us in, and she's young, Russian, all smiles and polite. But as soon as we're seated she's drilling me with questions. No "Let me just take a minute to review your file" or nothing. "When did Gisela first arrive here? Under what Visa was she travelling? Did she tell you why she was coming to the United States? At what point exactly did she enroll in school? Do you know when she applied for the student visa? Did she apply here or in Brazil? Is she currently working? Was she working while enrolled in school?"

After the CIA techniques in the lobby all I could think was - just tell them the truth and maybe they won't hurt us. So I did. Which caused Gisela to turn blue. My answers weren't really jibing with what we had filled in the application. My wife was understandably assuming that the Border Police were now on their way.

Officer Kustarova seemed to be having a pleasant time though. When she finally got around to the questions I had prepared for, she was trying to make it easy for me. "Do you know where her father was born?" "Yes. Natal. Rio Grande do Norte. First child of 5. Amazingly his father, Clarindo, is the last of 15. Fifteen! Imagine that." "You can just say Brazil" she told me.

It was a long time before she even bothered to ask Gisela any questions at all. And Gi was so freaked out and pissed off by then that it became like a weird couples therapy session. "How does Tom spend an average day?" "He leaves and goes to work in the studio and then he comes home and stays on the computer all night looking up nerd things on the internet while I wait for him in bed."

Ultimately I suppose the fact that we were nearly divorcing on the spot was the most genuine thing we could do because Officer Kustarova was beaming by the end and concluded by saying "You didn't hear it from me but... Congratulations! You passed!" Then she took Gisela's passport right away to recommend the Supervisor stamp it. Which they did, veja só. And as a sign of our gratitude, with the ink still wet, we got on the next flight to Brazil.