Let’s hear it for the I.N.S. (no, really)

I’ve said before, both here and many times elsewhere that there is a special place in hell reserved for the employees of the Immigration and Naturalization Service.  And not a very nice place in hell either.

To be fair though, this opinion came about from my experiences with the employees of the Phoenix office.  In all my dealings so far with the Denver office (two different ones), I have been more than impressed by the politeness, efficiency and overall friendliness of the INS employees.  If only I could say the same about all the government departments.  No, I’m not being sarcastic here, they really are a pleasure to deal with.

Although…the lady who greeted me at the door this morning and explained that she would be conducting my citizenship interview and civics test was, it has to be said, a little…abrupt.  Not rude exactly, but I suspected she had an ice-queen somewhere back in her lineage.

I really didn’t know what to expect at the interview.  I wasn’t sure if she would grill me about the intricacies of the Designated Hitter Rule, or my favourite John Wayne film, or ask for the ingredients of hot dogs.  As it turned out, that portion of the session was simply a case of her going through my application form and confirming everything was correct.  Yes, my name is spelled A-N-D-R-E-W, yes, I’m really from the United Kingdom and yes, that was a mistake where I’d said that The Light of my Life™ had previously been married to herself.

However, then we went onto the civics test.  While I’d prepared for this, I still wasn’t sure what was to come.  The gubmint sends potential citizens a handy-dandy booklet which not only lists the 96 questions from which the civics test is drawn (and the answers), but also a paragraph of history about each one.  It was actually semi-interesting, and I’ll bet many of my fellow Americans could benefit from it.  (Especially the girl who told me “Oh we did not fight against Italy in WWII – we like Italy).

Most of the questions were toughies such as “What colours make up the flag” and “Who is the President today” and so on, but others were a little more challenging.  Come on, hands up, who can tell me which Constitutional Amendments deal with voting rights?  (The 15th, 19th, 24th and 26th).  I’d also lost some sleep trying to memorize the original 13 colonies, which are, as I’m sure you know, Virginia, Massachusetts, Maryland, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Hampshire, North Carolina, South Carolina, -Take a Breath- New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware and Georgia.

And I’d had to promise myself not to get smart if asked “Which special group advises the president on policy?” Answer – “Whoever donates to his campaign fund.” Baddaboom tsssh! thank you, I’ll be here all week, don’t forget to tip your waitress.

But the thing is, I didn’t know what form the test would take.  Would it be written, oral, multiple choice, what was the required pass rate.  Nobody had told me this.  As it turned out, Ms Frostyface told me she would be asking the questions, and I had to get 6 out of 10 right.  No problem then, I had the stuff pretty well memorized and was even confident I could get all 13 colonies.  Should be a breeze.

And I did fine, right up until the second question.  “Where do congress meet?”  That’s an easy one, except I went into panic mode.  For some reason I locked onto the word “Congress” and couldn’t think of a anything else. For about a year I simply stared at her while my mind raced “Congress, congress…congress meet in…congress…it’s a trick question…congress is where they meet…I don’t get it…congress meets in…THE CAPITOL!” I really did almost yell the answer, then sat back chuckling with a relieved “Holy Crap!”

At that point she remembered she too, was human and laughed back

“OK, now we have that one out of the way, are you ready for the next question?”

And she didn’t ask me for the original 13 colonies, or the amendments dealing with voting rights.  So, I sailed it and it kinda looks like I’m going to become a citizen.

So uhm, can someone explain the Designated Hitter Rule?

Diary of a Pipe Band Contest

Day 1:
Wake at 6am. Switch off alarm and go back to sleep – plenty time yet. Wake again at 8am. Way late; this is going to be problem. Look out window and am disappointed, yet somehow not surprised to see it’s cloudy, wet and grey. With sinking heart, realise this means endless jokes about “Typical Scottish weather”. Race around like mad thing, loading car, feeding dogs and wondering why didn’t get stuff together night before. In and out of shower in record time before beginning battle with band uniform. Kilts not designed to be put on in hurry. Bad mood intensifies while taking dogs out and feeling fat raindrops splashing on clean, white shirt.

Set off down hill driving faster than Highway Patrol prefer. Scan lead grey sky and wonder if weather will keep crowds away. Or at least enough of them to allow parking close by. Problem turns out to be not crowds, but over-zealous parking attendants.

“If you don’t have a parking permit (nobody has parking permit) then you’ll have to drive to the nearby High School and come back on the shuttle bus.”

“Are you kidding me? Look at all the stuff I have to carry! I’m one of the competitors.”

“You can park in the unloading zone for 10 minutes, no more.”

10 minutes! So-called “unloading zone” is more than 10 minutes’ walk from designated band site, especially with heavy drum, full cooler, uniform jacket in dry cleaning bag, folding chair, equipment bag and spare clothing. Loading zone also contains at rough estimate, 100 empty spaces. Spaces remain empty all day while band members struggle to carry gear from designated car park three miles away.

Drop off gear at band tent, move car to official car park and return on shuttle. Grunt “Mornin'” to band mates and set off in search of coffee. Negotiate complicated process of buying tickets from one tent before standing in line for breakfast at another. Vendor has run out of coffee. Explain to vendor that this is hanging offense in any civilised country.  

Head back to band tent and huddle with other sodden band members, trying to keep warm whilst whining about parking situation and attempting to practice drums with bloodless hands. Opening ceremony is at noon and by 11:30 mood changed to one of activity. Pipers are tuned, drummers are warmed up, ties are straightened. At 11:55, march in sort-of-formation over to join other bands in central arena.

Opening ceremony even longer than usual. Officials sit under dry tent whilst making interminable speeches, completely oblivious to participants standing in open field, exposed to elements. Official advises spectators of items on day’s program. Neglects to mention band competition, supposedly main event. Guest speaker conducts long prayer to Christian god, whilst non-Christian band members (overwhelming majority), make irreverent conversation. After opening ceremony, make second attempt to purchase coffee. Only decaff available. Wonder just how far up vendor’s nose drumstick would fit.

Not good enough drummer to take part in competition. Instead have official role of cinematographer. Or ‘video-bitch’ as boorish drum-corporal puts it. Take chair and borrowed video camera over to competition area and set up camp, wishing had remembered tripod. Competing bands take turns marching into arena before standing in circle facing one another with backs to audience while playing set, so camera focused mainly on kilted backsides with very little action. Audio more important really, however, did get humorous footage of Youth Band drummers grimacing at each other while arguing wordlessly. Finish filming competition before heading back to band tent to drink beer and make catty remarks about other bands. 

March back to central arena for closing ceremony. More interminable speeches enlivened by announcement band has swept board finishing first in all categories. Much back slapping and high-fiving. Point out that good looks of cinematographer probably swung vote but magnanimously concede that band members who actually played in competition also helped in own small way. More beer drinking ensues. Details hazy.

Day 2:
Wake on time to see beautiful, blue sky. Slather self with sun block and head down hill in buoyant spirits. Hit cloudbank at 7,000 feet. Weather below, cloudy, wet and grey. Ignore parking attendants and leave car in little known hideaway, not too far from band tent. Early arrival means have to help set up waterlogged tent. Discover shirt lying on ground, unmissed ’till now. Head over to food vendor to purchase breakfast. Coffee available, but no food. Think murderous thoughts about food vendor. Take sip of coffee and wonder if previously drunk by someone else.

Sun makes weak attempt to shine in time for opening ceremony. Speeches even longer than yesterday, although largely same material. Announcer neglects to mention pipe band competition again. Observe loudly that “Bands required but not welcome” would be good motto for games. Announcer does remember to introduce every single breed in dog show. Remark on what a lot of breeds there are. By end of opening ceremony, food vendor offering limited menu. Menu no longer includes coffee. Reflect once more how should have brought own food.  And perhaps baseball bat to encourage better future performance from vendor.

Smaller entrance field for band competition so videotaping doesn’t take so long. Take mean-spirited pleasure at mistakes of rival band, then listen in bemused horror when rival band marches out to own band’s signature tune. Tacky enough but made worse by horrible rendition. Own band plays very well, so can only hope judges overlook early, but rather noticeable mistake. Other serious competitor makes couple mistakes too. Could go either way.

Closing ceremony ninety minutes away so pass time drinking beer, swapping jokes and making more catty remarks about rival bands.  Learn parking attendants are arranging to have cars towed from “unloading zone”.  Sympathize with band members hurrying off to move cars.

Grumble incessantly over new rule forbidding bands to take beer onto field for closing ceremony. Grumble even more when see official responsible for rule parading around field with beer in hand. “I’m not in uniform, you are.” Says official, with smirk.

Mollified by news that band has won competition again. Good looks of cinematographer must really carry weight with judges.

Pack up soaking wet tent and stare in dismay at amount of crap to be carried to car. Give thanks for helpful steward with golf-cart who carries heavy stuff. On to band member’s house for beer, pizza and more self-congratulation.

Reflect on how last two days have been nothing but cold, wet weather, irritating officials, and minor slights, incompetent vendors and petty annoyances.

Spent in company of great bunch of people while kicking arses of all-comers.  What a great weekend it’s been.

First published: 16 August, 2005