One thing about not being in your own country, even if you're old and sick, you still have to come to the Immigration. I mused out loud to My man, as we stood outside the Immigration Building, at seven-thirty yesterday morning. Ahead of us on the queue, was an elderly couple. The man, perhaps in his late seventies, was on a wheelchair, and his wife, about his age, pushed him towards the chairs. Good thing they were allowed entry into the building, to sit down and wait there, while the rest of us, lined up outside the door.
Like I said last year (see this post), you never know what to expect when you arrive at the Immigration. Last year, I got to be the third person on a line in front of the counter where they give out queue numbers, but that was inside the building. This time, we had to queue outside the door, and wait for them to open it, which they did a few minutes after the flag-raising at eight am. As soon as they opened the doors, everybody scrambled in to line up again at the counter, to get our queue numbers. My number: 909. 10 persons waiting ahead of me.
The waiting gave me and My man some time to talk. It's very seldom that we get to talk uninterrupted by a little Roo. My man planned his strategies for next year's visa renewal: Since he wakes up early, he'd go ahead and make sure he's first on the line, get a number, then I can just come later (they open the offices at 8:30 am and start calling numbers around nine am anyways.) We discussed several business opportunities that could be feasible around and inside the Immigration. Breakfast is one. We surmised most people who were there early, like us, didn't have time to eat. Photocopy and photograph services is another. There's always one more document that you forget to photocopy, and your old ID picture may not pass their scrutiny. Or maybe A Queue Number to Your Liking business! We'll hire someone to be there early, get as many numbers as possible for all kinds of visa needs, and provide them to people at a fee! That would work for people like me who'd pay for a few more winks of sleep :D Another thing that would definitely reap profits is a parking lot. Parking at the Immigration is next to impossible when you get there late. You'll just have to drive around and around the parking lot until you get lucky and somebody drives out.
Sigh. Why is it that when you're waiting, time ticks by ever so slowly? My man had already run out of things to talk about, and got himself busy with his phone game. I craned my neck to check on the officers--they were all seated at their desks, behind their brand-new computers, all looking busy. The woman on my right was leafing through her documents, over and over, every now and then checking on the electronic device in front of us, to see if it's working. Right next to her, was a dark-haired boy, about two years old, whining for one more treat from his mom. There was a black guy in front of us sitting and talking quietly with a Thai lady. Beside them, sat a family of Caucasians. The mom was constantly playing referee between her little boy and his sister, who were amusing themselves by taking turns tickling each other's neck.
Number nine hundred. Counter number 20. The electronic device finally found its voice! It was now nine am. The lady beside me, obviously an agent processing visas for other people, had left her seat a while back and gone ahead to talk to the officers without being called. A tall, white man in his flip-flops came and sat down. I glanced at his passport. Deutsche. His number: 958.
Photographs, check. Photocopies: Marriage contract, passport, birth certificate, Thai ID, house registration, check. Map! See, I told you. I can never get all these documents right.
Nine hundred nine. Counter number 21. My man and I greeted the officer with a wai, and handed her our documents. She gave My man an A4 paper and asked him to draw a map indicating where we live. She checked the family pictures we submitted and compared them with her file of last year's pictures. Hmm, they can monitor my little Roo's growth here. Sign here, sign there. You pay 1900 baht khah. Stamp, stamp. She gave me back my passport and on it: 16 September 2008. I am to go back next month for the results.
Whew! My man and I chuckled in relief as we drove away and this black Honda Accord behind us swiftly drove into the precious parking spot.
