Immigration nightmares

Even as the storm clouds cleared revealing a rare patch of blue sky during the monsoons in Calcutta, it was time to say goodbye. I was going back to the US after spending a lazy hot summer gorging on my mother’s cooking. After stuffing two suitcases full of sweets and savories to see me through another year, I set off on the journey back to Greencastle. When the A330 touched down in Chicago’s O’Hare airport, my thoughts drifted to the fraternity house on campus. It promised to be an adventurous fall. “Such a different world” I thought to myself as a blond air hostess waved goodbye.

My experience at O’Hare has never been terribly positive. The walk to the immigration hall from the air-bridge, at least for flights coming in from India, takes so long that anything in the zip code with two legs and a pulse seems to get in line before you. Furthermore, the immigration officers at the end of the line end up being so cantankerous that you almost want to run around and queue up again. So much for Mid-Western hospitality – they offer up a potent blend of overweight, grumpy, and rude. It’s like meeting Shrek on a bad day.

I had a connecting flight to Indianapolis in two hours. That should still give me plenty of time to recheck my bags I thought as I approached the front of the queue. The officer who asked me to step up to his booth seemed particularly ticked off that afternoon. He was sweating profusely in an air conditioned hall and seemed to be wearing a shirt that had recently shrunk in the washing machine. The third button from the top looked ready for take-off. I had a stray image of him prancing about as a superhero with his underwear over his pants. The whole thing made me nervous.

“Where are you going?” he asked brusquely.

“To Greencastle...college” I replied.

“What are you studying there?” Captain America continued

“The liberal arts...er..a bunch of different things. Some econ, math, music, philosophy…” I stammered. I had been warned to echo what my documents said so as not to raise any red flags. I’d recently decided to major in Math and Econ but my documents still said I was undecided. I hadn’t planned on making it complicated.

That didn’t seem to be the answer he was looking for. He looked up, frowned, and went back to his screen.

“When did you start?”

“Last year...I’m a sophomore this year”

“I have no proof that you’re still a student. Your I-20 isn’t signed.”

“Huh?”

The I-20 is a US student immigration document that colleges issue. The second page contains a section for international student advisers to sign at least once a year if the student is leaving the country. Since the visa is valid for 5 years, it’s possible for someone to enter the country on a student visa but never end up in college. The I-20 is the only proof of continued attendance.

There was just one problem – no one ever told me this. My I-20 hadn’t been signed for over a year.

“There’s nothing to show that you are still attending college”

“Uh...but I can show you my class schedule if you want? I even have my student ID with me.”

“Step aside sir, and come with me”

“What!?”

“Follow me”

Events had quickly taken a rather dramatic turn. I feared the worst – no one ever says good things about US detention centers. But I’m harmless, I wanted to say. I enjoy drawing demand and supply curves. You’ve got the wrong guy! It didn’t look like Cappy was interested.

I followed him into a back room which made me feel shady just by virtue of being in it. An eclectic bunch of individuals haunted the long benches that were laid out facing the officer’s desk. I was told to sit down and wait. Someone would tell me what to do.

It took a few moments for the events to soak in. I was clearly in trouble but didn’t even know why (I found out about the whole I-20 thing later). Perhaps I could gauge how bad it was by studying the other people in the room with me. The girl on my left was young and pregnant. Not just pregnant – on the verge of popping one out. Someone merely had to run up and say “push!” and I had no doubt that she’d deliver. She clearly wanted junior to be an American citizen and had tried to time her flight appropriately. She’d have to make it into the country though, a feat which it didn’t look all that promising right now.

Behind me on my right was a slightly disheveled looking man. I overheard two officers at the desk look at him and say something about the CIA and Interpol. Apparently his name matched the name of an individual on multiple most-wanted lists. The question was whether or not he was that man. I decided to stop the people watching there because it wasn’t helping my nervousness.

When half an hour passed without anyone telling me what I’d done, I thought it was time to do something proactive. I didn’t feel like I had earned my way into the ranks of such infamous company. Taking a deep breath, I walked across to the desk and said to the officer “Excuse me sir, could you please tell me why I’m here? I have a flight to catch in an hour that I’m worried about missing”.

The officer looked up at me and put his pen down. Without missing a beat, he said “Look, the way I see it you have two options. You can either go back and sit down right now or we can put you on the next flight back to your country”.

When those are your options the decision is pretty simple. I was tempted to ask if they’d pay for business class but displayed a rare moment of discretion. I walked back to the bench and waited.

Twenty minutes later, he called me up to the desk. “Here’s a letter that you need to hand to your international student adviser. She needs to get in touch with us to confirm your student status” he said.

“Er...and is that it?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, you’re free to go” he replied, still not offering a smile.

“Do you need anything else from me?” I asked thinking about blood samples, DNA tests and so on.

“Nope” he replied and went back to his work.

I stumbled out of the room in disbelief. “What an anticlimax” I thought to myself. I had already imagined myself being chained to a chair and deported to Guantanamo.

“Have a safe flight” said someone behind me as the automatic doors slid shut.