t you have to order merchandise, stock shelves, clean, hire cashiers, and god knows what else. Now if you take the money you save doing front-end stuff and invest it in expanding your space and opening a garage you could be getting a guaranteed $35 per customer for holding on to their car while they wait for 2 hours to have a man with a rubber stamp who speaks worse English than them to decide if they are fit to be a US Citizen. I know I'm getting ahead of myself, but kill me now and spare both of us this recollection. But before I continue I feel I should say that yes, I am well aware my garage business plan doesn't take into consideration a million and one things and might ultimately be flawed, but all I'm doing is proving a point and I don't need your nitpicky nose leaving comments just to point out that I'm wrong. Chances are I'm better then you are anyway, get over it.
Walking into 25 Federal Plaza felt like "Spybreak!" should be playing because it was something straight out of the Matrix lobby scene. Your g
reeted by an armed security guard talking about his girlfriend leaving him on his cell phone while trying to tell you to put your stuff in the x-ray machine. Already I wished I had a trench coat with an arsenal of automatic weapons strapped on my body which I could present to the security guard after the metal detector beeps just to watch his jaw fly open and the phone fly from his hand. Your guarding the fucking building with both Homeland Security and FBI offices inside it, put down the fucking phone and do your job before we all get blown up. He did manage to take my mom's nail file from her purse, which she was clearly going to use to file away at the immigration officer if he didn't give me my certificate. Why wouldn't she? Imagine that headline: [Angry Woman Uses Nail File on Federal Employee: Immigration Reform Imminent]. I'd buy that paper. Once we get upstairs we're greeted by another rent-a-cop. It seems they hired this one straight from the immigrant line. I've never heard a more confusing accent in my life. I think it was African, but thats only based on the fact that he was Black and had a flat nose. Eventually we figured out that he was trying to tell us to turn off our cell phones. Apparently if my mom's nail file plan fails her cell phone is just as dangerous. Just ask Naomi Campbell's hair stylist to tell you how dangerous a cell phone can be. We arrived at 12:10pm for my 12:00pm interview. The room was already packed, because according to the guy sitting next to us apparently we're the only ones with enough balls to show up late to something as important as a citizenship interview. I'm sorry if I don't enjoy wasting my time on something so pointless and redundant as an in person interview for a certificate which I am already legally entitled too. Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate this wonderful country of ours, but I just don't approve of the way they get things done or its current position in the world.After a 90 minute wait we are finally escorted to a nicely appointed office where we are told to raise our right hands. "Do you swear to tell the truth... bla bla bla bla ignore me here because there's no reason for you to give me any other answer then I do...so help you God" It took all my might to hold back from screaming out "I AM GOD". And weren't they supposed to get rid of the whole God thing from government? I don't have a problem with it, I mean I'd still say "I do" whether it was God, Satan, or Harry Potter "so helping" me if I lied, but I just think they could get a little more creative. Around this time I realized that the immigration officer has a greater accent then either of my parents. I wonder why the don't just outsource the entire naturalization process to India and save the taxpayers some money. The interview itself was more like him asking me questions to which he already knew the answers and the spending the remaining 1o minutes flirting with my mom after he saw her divorce certificate. I hope you trip, land headfirst onto a flagpole, and lay there penetrated with the American flag waving over your head while Bruce Willis stands over you singing The Star Spangled Banner. Yippie Ka Yay mother fucker. After another 30 minutes of waiting I finally got my citizenship certificate. Image that, almost $300 and 3 hours later, me, an 18 year old who's been in the country legally for over 14 years, as a citizen for the past 7, and speaks better English then everyone working at the immigration office, finally got a piece of paper confirming what I already knew, that I'm a citizen of this here US of A. God Bless America.-------------------------------
I'm too lazy to go through my birthday wish list like I promised I would, so instead I'll just give the top 5 things I want you to get me:
- "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell" by Tucker Max (Which is a MUST READ if you find yourself laughing at my crude humor)
- Cannon EOS 30D or any Digital SLR for that matter
- XBOX 360 because COD4 on XBOX Live = LIFE
- Brigada DVD Set
- Sennheiser HD-595 Headphones
and for the few of you that need me too look good: Norelco Bodygroom. It could be your gift to both me and you. ;)
Get on it:
Get on it:
Sweet dreams kids.
Edit: I almost forgot about the passport picture story. I spent $12 on pictures when I sent in the application because they want THREE pictures even though the pictures are sold in pairs of TWO. So fine, I buy 4 pictures, pay $12 and keep one for myself. 4 months later I get the interview letter telling me I need to bring 2 new pictures. Vat Ze Fak? How much can a person have changed that you need new pictures 4 months later. And what the fuck do you need FIVE pictures of me for anyways? Do you give them to gay soldiers in Iraq so they have something to jerk off too when they are on their 3rd tour of duty? Long story short he hand's be back the three pictures I sent in and says they only need the two new ones. And then they wonder why so many immigrants are poor.
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