If there is a hell, it begins with a visit to an immigration office. The following is an account I wrote while waiting to extend my Thai tourist visa:
8 AM
I arrived at 7 AM only to find that all the blue queue cards had been given out to the people who had been there since five or even earlier. I was given a yellow number card. Nobody who works here seems to want to help anyone and when my number was called and I went up, the woman at the desk started yelling at me in Thai. There was an American guy standing nearby who seemed to know what was up so I asked him. He said there are four or five lines with different purposes that take different amounts of time. After all the blue cards are called, they call the yellow cards so you can get a blue card.
At least that's how I understood it. I guess that the office doesn't start actually doing anything till 8:30 so until then I'll just sit here with my yellow card.
8:20 AM
Someone is on the overhead speaker announcing how this is going to work. I don't think my yellow number is for a blue number-- I think it's my final number. That means I'm number eleven in my group. Hopefully my forms are all correct.
9:00 AM
Finally had my number called. I brought the forms and a copy of my passport to the desk only to be told I had to do it again. I had filled out my form with the red pen I had in my pocket and I guess red ink invalidates everything. I also didn't have the right pages of my passport copied. I had to fill out the form again in blue ink and go to the copy shop conveniently located behind the immigration office to get my passport copied. On my way out the door, a British woman yelled at me for being in her way. The immigration office brings out the worst in us all.
9:20 AM
Turned in my rewritten forms (in blue ink!) and the correct passport copies and paid the fee. Now I have to wait for them to finish up and give me my passport back.
10 AM
My name was called. I went up to the counter and they took a photo of me with a webcam then told me to sit down again. It never ends.
10:15 AM
8 AM
I arrived at 7 AM only to find that all the blue queue cards had been given out to the people who had been there since five or even earlier. I was given a yellow number card. Nobody who works here seems to want to help anyone and when my number was called and I went up, the woman at the desk started yelling at me in Thai. There was an American guy standing nearby who seemed to know what was up so I asked him. He said there are four or five lines with different purposes that take different amounts of time. After all the blue cards are called, they call the yellow cards so you can get a blue card.
At least that's how I understood it. I guess that the office doesn't start actually doing anything till 8:30 so until then I'll just sit here with my yellow card.
8:20 AM
Someone is on the overhead speaker announcing how this is going to work. I don't think my yellow number is for a blue number-- I think it's my final number. That means I'm number eleven in my group. Hopefully my forms are all correct.
9:00 AM
Finally had my number called. I brought the forms and a copy of my passport to the desk only to be told I had to do it again. I had filled out my form with the red pen I had in my pocket and I guess red ink invalidates everything. I also didn't have the right pages of my passport copied. I had to fill out the form again in blue ink and go to the copy shop conveniently located behind the immigration office to get my passport copied. On my way out the door, a British woman yelled at me for being in her way. The immigration office brings out the worst in us all.
9:20 AM
Turned in my rewritten forms (in blue ink!) and the correct passport copies and paid the fee. Now I have to wait for them to finish up and give me my passport back.
10 AM
My name was called. I went up to the counter and they took a photo of me with a webcam then told me to sit down again. It never ends.
10:15 AM
My name was called again and I picked up my passport and receipt. It's over now and I'm good till mid-March. I need a nap.
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| This photo of a a caged chicken could act as a metaphor for my three hours in the immigration office. |
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