Moving to a new country is filled with expected challenges and "WhatTheFork" moments. It's just part of the deal and to get through it with sanity in tact, you must muster a smile and brave the gauntlet of bureaucratic brouhaha.
It's really just "Odds & Grins". Some things are "ha-ha" funny if you have even the slightest inclination toward a twisted sense of humor:
For example - I have to get my husbands permission to work here.
Other things are just plain "funny" - like weird, head cocked to one side, what-the-fork?
For example - the process to attest our marriage certificate (which is required to get a residents permit) took 8 weeks and cost about as much as a one-way ticket home.
Wouldn't it have been "ha-ha" funny to find out we weren't actually married for the last 9 years?
But now, I have a document signed by Hillary Rodham Clinton testifying that I'm married - do you?
I thought not.
After receiving Hillary's stamp of approval on my marriage, my meander through the Residents Visa Obstacle Course could now commence:
1. Medical Exam: Long line. Lots of forms. Handover cash and proceed to the typewriter.
Yes, typewriter.
Give a vial of blood. Take off bra. Pose for a chest Xray with shirt on and no bra and the horrifying thought that this might somehow end up on Facebook. Then try and put bra on again whilst protecting modesty because lady in the dressing room is taking AGES to remove her bra (doesn't she know the Flashdance pull-it-out-through-the-sleeve trick?) - oh screw it - off with the T-shirt.
"Come back and pick up your paperwork and passport in 5 hours please, then wait for your SMS with further instructions." Sigh.
2. Two weeks later - after they have determined that I don't pose a health hazard to the community I've just spent two weeks in - I get an SMS indicating that in 3 weeks I must go to a designated location far, far away to get fingerprinted and palm-printed for my Resident ID card - which will allow me to have a bank account, get a drivers license, and...ahem, get a job....(snicker).
Taxi gets lost. Pulls over another taxi and they agree that they also went there many years ago but can't seem to remember if the building is behind the Halal supermarket or the mosque. I'm doomed and won't make my appointment time for sure; I have visions of "airport security line chaos" waiting for me and prepare myself for a day of waiting and shuffling cues.
But, I open the door and no one is there except a roomful of government workers and me. It's like they opened for the day just for me. Maybe this was a secret taping of The Amazing Race and one of them is going to hand me a big yellow envelope!
Nope.
Boom - mug shot. Boom - left had on high-tech computer thingy that takes such a clear image of my palm that I wonder if they might give me a photocopy so I can send it to this excellent palm reader I met in Miami....yeah, probably shouldn't ask that.
I'm processed, paid, and out the door in less than five minutes feeling a little breathless and excited at my efficient, uncomplicated and completely smooth bureaucratic experience.
Five minutes of ecstasy in eight weeks time. You should be so lucky.
My next SMS will be in one month which will tell me that my ID card has arrived and I can go and pick it up at my PO Box.....
oh, hadn't I mentioned that we have to go and get our mail at the post office here?
A few days of searching our building for the tenant mailboxes lead me to the discovery that very few buildings in Dubai have mail delivery....one must wait for an SMS that basically states "You've Got Mail" and then proceed to the postoffice.
Sigh.
Smile.
I've ordered the above print and have a special place above my desk already reserved.
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| Art Print by David Schwen (click to order) |
It's really just "Odds & Grins". Some things are "ha-ha" funny if you have even the slightest inclination toward a twisted sense of humor:
For example - I have to get my husbands permission to work here.
Other things are just plain "funny" - like weird, head cocked to one side, what-the-fork?
For example - the process to attest our marriage certificate (which is required to get a residents permit) took 8 weeks and cost about as much as a one-way ticket home.
Wouldn't it have been "ha-ha" funny to find out we weren't actually married for the last 9 years?
But now, I have a document signed by Hillary Rodham Clinton testifying that I'm married - do you?
I thought not.
After receiving Hillary's stamp of approval on my marriage, my meander through the Residents Visa Obstacle Course could now commence:
1. Medical Exam: Long line. Lots of forms. Handover cash and proceed to the typewriter.
Yes, typewriter.
Give a vial of blood. Take off bra. Pose for a chest Xray with shirt on and no bra and the horrifying thought that this might somehow end up on Facebook. Then try and put bra on again whilst protecting modesty because lady in the dressing room is taking AGES to remove her bra (doesn't she know the Flashdance pull-it-out-through-the-sleeve trick?) - oh screw it - off with the T-shirt.
"Come back and pick up your paperwork and passport in 5 hours please, then wait for your SMS with further instructions." Sigh.
2. Two weeks later - after they have determined that I don't pose a health hazard to the community I've just spent two weeks in - I get an SMS indicating that in 3 weeks I must go to a designated location far, far away to get fingerprinted and palm-printed for my Resident ID card - which will allow me to have a bank account, get a drivers license, and...ahem, get a job....(snicker).
Taxi gets lost. Pulls over another taxi and they agree that they also went there many years ago but can't seem to remember if the building is behind the Halal supermarket or the mosque. I'm doomed and won't make my appointment time for sure; I have visions of "airport security line chaos" waiting for me and prepare myself for a day of waiting and shuffling cues.
But, I open the door and no one is there except a roomful of government workers and me. It's like they opened for the day just for me. Maybe this was a secret taping of The Amazing Race and one of them is going to hand me a big yellow envelope!
Nope.
Boom - mug shot. Boom - left had on high-tech computer thingy that takes such a clear image of my palm that I wonder if they might give me a photocopy so I can send it to this excellent palm reader I met in Miami....yeah, probably shouldn't ask that.
I'm processed, paid, and out the door in less than five minutes feeling a little breathless and excited at my efficient, uncomplicated and completely smooth bureaucratic experience.
Five minutes of ecstasy in eight weeks time. You should be so lucky.
My next SMS will be in one month which will tell me that my ID card has arrived and I can go and pick it up at my PO Box.....
oh, hadn't I mentioned that we have to go and get our mail at the post office here?
A few days of searching our building for the tenant mailboxes lead me to the discovery that very few buildings in Dubai have mail delivery....one must wait for an SMS that basically states "You've Got Mail" and then proceed to the postoffice.
Sigh.
Smile.
I've ordered the above print and have a special place above my desk already reserved.
