Reflections on a process Part Two
From Krome Detention Center to the Miramar ICE Office in Broward County was instructive as well as a hike. Patty wanted to go up there and just plead her case. Again the bureaucracy or blind ass luck intervined. We discussed this situation because her daughter was in school and should something unintended haapen and she end up in Pompano Beach detention center for women we needed to be prepared.
The security guard strongly suggested that Patty stay in the car car and that I enter the building to inquire about the next step in the process. Patty had no current Florida id of any kind, her passport from the DR had expired a long time ago and xerox copies of an old social security would be of little help.
Entering the building there was an area filled with folks. The guy at the front desk asked if I had an appointment. No appointment meant sitting for a long time or calling the number on a business card he gave me. Returning to the car we decided a phone call and an appointment would be the better way to go. The gray office building seemed more like a police office than a social welfare office. A strategic retreat and some phone time. The phone call to the office wasn't easy. The line was either busy or you were put on hold forever and then disconnected. Eventually Patty got through to someone that listened to her history, story, and checked out previous applications, her alien number. It was suggested that she go to the immmigration office in Miami and have the interviewer call him. Somehow or other there were computer records that were not properly linked up because her records were so old. She got his name and inside telephone number.
This is still October 2010.
The security guard strongly suggested that Patty stay in the car car and that I enter the building to inquire about the next step in the process. Patty had no current Florida id of any kind, her passport from the DR had expired a long time ago and xerox copies of an old social security would be of little help.
Entering the building there was an area filled with folks. The guy at the front desk asked if I had an appointment. No appointment meant sitting for a long time or calling the number on a business card he gave me. Returning to the car we decided a phone call and an appointment would be the better way to go. The gray office building seemed more like a police office than a social welfare office. A strategic retreat and some phone time. The phone call to the office wasn't easy. The line was either busy or you were put on hold forever and then disconnected. Eventually Patty got through to someone that listened to her history, story, and checked out previous applications, her alien number. It was suggested that she go to the immmigration office in Miami and have the interviewer call him. Somehow or other there were computer records that were not properly linked up because her records were so old. She got his name and inside telephone number.
This is still October 2010.
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