It’s 7:20 in the morning. As I leave the U-Bahn station at Poccistrasse, I see a crowd of other sleepy-eyed foreigners standing outside the Kreisverwaltungsreferat (the KVR). Presumably, everyone on line is here to obtain or extend a visa, but the KVR may offer other services, so I’m not sure. An old man in front of me with hedges for eyebrows stares at a newspaper with his mouth open for who knows how many minutes. He likely won’t be joining me in the student line. A girl about my age is further up, at the very front of the line. She’s leaning inward toward the door slightly, and she’s tracing the items on her checklist with her finger, head positioned nearly below her shoulders. I imagine she’s a runner and that she’ll be my competition for a place in line.
Ten minutes go by. I can hear anxious murmuring ahead of me as the crowd ball starts to shift. Someone somewhere is unlocking a door.
It’s the handicapped door, at the far end of the entrance. An anxious young guy edges past me in order to weave through the crowd toward it. Waiting for the door in front of us to open is for noobs, I guess. A second later, a KVR employee is unlocking our door. The murmuring starts in our section of the crowd, and I feel pressure on my back. The KVR employee slides out of the way of the door, and I learn that everyone is a runner. It’s November 19, 2006 in the US, and the Nintendo Wii just went on sale.
I walk in, dodging runners as they fly by me on their way to whichever line offers the visa they need. I’m on my way to the 2nd floor, but luckily it’s pretty close to the stairwell. Everyone seems to be avoiding that route, so I’m feeling pretty good about the likely length of my line. Nursing the pending nervous breakdown I’d given shelter in my stomach over the weekend, I push open the stairwell doors. I hear sharp breathing as a girl of maybe 26 hurries past me as I inadvertently hold the door open for her. You’re welcome. I enjoy a laugh at the ridiculousness of everyone’s anxiety and continue upward.
About a minute later, I’m in line behind 6 people. This isn’t bad at all–the line ends before the doorway out of the room. I have 4.5 hours to get through this, and maybe 3 waiting areas. Awesome. A crowd of maybe 7 runners sighs its way into line behind me. That’s funny.
Four people make it through the front desk in about as many seconds, after simply handing Desk Lady their application checklist. How on Earth did they do that? There’s no time to ask, though–I’m almost next.
The next guy approaches Desk Lady. His native language is Spanish, but he stutters through some German. Maybe it’s because he’s still learning, or maybe it’s because he’s nervous. I don’t know which it is, but I absolutely relate to both.
“I need to get a Visa, please.”
“Do you have your application?” Desk Lady tells her computer screen.
“Um, no I don’t.”
“Why not?” She still hasn’t looked up from her screen.
“Um. Well, can I go fill it out and bring it back to you?”
“Go fill it out. Next.”
He’s a tough act to follow. “Hi, I would like an extension for my Visa, please.”
“I need to see your documents.”
“Naturally.” I’m trying to be as humble as possible. In my experience, working with Desk Lady and Desk Man is working with an emotionally sensitive computer. Every text string that leaves my mouth or appears on any of my papers must match the string stored in their memory. Unless I annoy them. In that case, they add new text strings to their memory and penalize me for an invalid command.
I produce my Visa application and my checklist.
“Financial support?” She wants evidence that I won’t be a burden on the German welfare system.
“Yep.” I hand her a pay stub of Roxana’s and a note signed by Roxana naming her my source of financial support.
“This is all you have?”
That is the question of nightmares. Every bit of that nervous breakdown I mentioned before was rooted in the possibility of hearing that exact question. Oh, dear God.
“Well, yes. It indicates that my time here is sustainable, no?”
“Who is Roxana?”
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“She needs to come here with you. Notes like this only work when support comes from your parents.”
My argument: “Oh. Really?”
She looks back at her computer screen and types for ten seconds. She looks back to me. After five more seconds, she slides her chair back, hits a button and hands me a waiting room ticket.
Valid command!
I’m number 108, so I find a seat in the waiting room and melt into it. This is as far as I’ve made it since I received my first Visa a year ago. Run free, pending nervous breakdown.
It’s going to be awhile until they call me. One new number appears on the board every 7-10 minutes. I pull out A Feast for Crows and start reading. George R.R. Martin is your best friend in a government waiting room. Cersei’s angry.
1.5 hours go by, and my number finally appears on the board. I’m ecstatic. It’s the moment of truth. Time to meet with Office Lady.
I open her door, and I’m greeted by a smile sitting in front of a view of the courtyard. Office Lady is always nicer than Desk Lady.
“Good morning!” I say, as humbly as ever.
“Good morning!” she replies. “How can I help you?”
“Well, I’m wondering if it would be okay if we speak in English? I can speak German, but my vocabulary on the subject of Visas and the law is really small.”
She smiles, looking a bit unsure. “Yes, I can try.”
“Thank you so much. I’m applying to graduate school, here, and in order to finish the process I need to extend my Visa. Specifically, I’m looking for one called Section 16, paragraph 1-”
“Slow down, slow down. I need to see your documents, first.”
That’s interesting. Desk Lady would have wanted me to spell out the exact nature of my request. Office Lady is ready to decide on her own what they can offer me. I always liked Office Lady. I hand her all of my documents.
“And do you have proof of eligibility for University?”
I’m glad you asked! Is what I want to say. Instead, I say “Yes, I do. I have 4 types, in case you prefer any one of them.”
I show her my grad school application, my original diplomas from UT Austin, my official sealed transcript from UT Austin, and my grad school acceptance letter from last year (the University accepted me, but the specific program to which I applied rejected me). One of them is bound to convince her that I’m eligible for a Master’s degree here.
“I think the diplomas are sufficient,” Office Lady laughs. “Please wait outside for a few minutes while I process these. I’ll come get you when I’m done.”
I wait in the hallway for 40 minutes. I still feel good about Office Lady, though.
Finally, her door opens and she pokes her head through the doorway. “You can come back, now.”
“I was able to extend your visa. Before this extension expires, though, you have to bring proof that you were accepted into your Master’s program back here. Then, we will give you a normal student visa.”
It’s okay, Office Lady. I am more than familiar with the drill. “That’s perfect,” I say as she asks me to sign the document that confirms the details of the extension. It’s in German legalese, but I can make out an effective period of six months, and a line that says failure means leaving Germany.
“Just to make sure: this says that I have six months to bring back proof of enrollment. Right? So, by October?”
“Well, yes. Actually you have until September 30.”
Fantastic. “Thanks so much for your help!”
“It’s no problem. Have a good day.”
Office Lady is great.
The rest is easy. All I have to do is make my way downstairs and pay for this thing. 20 euros and 2.5 hours, and I’m done.
********
It’s noon, and I decide I want to examine my new Visa up close. It’s different than what I received last time–a sticker stuck to a rectangular stub rather than inside my passport. It’s also called a “Reisepass” this time, instead of an “Aufenthaltserlaubnis.” That’s strange.
And then: “Valid until: June 30, 2014.” Holy nuts. Cashier Lady did not just do that.
So, I’m going back to the KVR tomorrow morning to correct this mistake. I love the KVR.