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Docklands 4 - In Quest of an INS Waiver
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3545 Reads
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āBesides the Captainās letter, youāre gonna need an I-259, an I-160 and . . . lemme see (as I hear papers shuffle) oh yeah, better give me an I-408 too, just in case. Oh! And an I-95! And donāt forget the 65 bucks . . .ā
Iāve lucked out this Sunday morning and have netted perhaps the only decent, competent and fervently-hoped-for compassionate INS inspector in the Long Beach U.S. Immigration & Naturalization (INS) Seaport unit, Inspector David Reynoso. Iām on the phone with him, setting up my visa waiver application on medical/ humanity grounds for Captain Goās hapless AB seaman with the 10-centimeter bloody extrusions from his anus.
āYeah, OK, Dave, I think Iāve got all that. You gonna be around there for awhile?"
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āI got two ships right now, gotta go. Come over about eleven [click].ā
I fish through our forms files, find the I-259 āNotice to Present and Detain Alien Crewman,ā the I-160 āAudit and Process - Aliens for Deportation,ā the I-408 āDischarge of Alien Crew,ā and an I-95 card, the āAlien Crew Landing Permit.ā I also get out a company check for the 65 dollar waiver application fee. Iāve got Captain Goās letter in hand, a marvel of concise medical prognosis, grammar notwithstanding. Itās every bit as graphic as the good Captainās actual telling.
This will either work for or against us, I figure. Since September 11th, Iāve submitted perhaps a dozen such visa waiver applications. Each has been summarily denied, denied āwith prejudice,ā in fact. Pre-9/11, it was routine for INS to grant a waiver for any half-ass good reason; e.g.; allowing a crewman off a ship to access the berth pay-phone in order to call home to check on his pregnant wife, etc. All the schmuck needed was the 65 bucks application fee.
Since then imagine my considerable angst when a Singapore Chinese ship owner called me in the middle of the night to bleat in sing-song that his Master was denied shore leave, even AFTER he paid the 65 dollars? It gets old quick, trust me.
āYou pay, no matter INS decision! You must pay! What? What? NO! NO REFUNDS!ā
So Iām not exactly optimistic, despite Captain Goās lurid supporting evidence.
I fill out all the forms, take a photocopy of the seamanās passport (who Iām leaving anonymous out of common decency), and get into my batmobile for the quick (remember, itās Sunday) drive over Terminal Island to the Alexander H. Watson or whatever Federal Building on Ocean Blvd. in downtown Long Beach. Iām able to park directly across the street and again ruminate on the advantages of working weekends.
As the buildingās massive front doors are locked down securely, I thumb the redial on my Nextel. Dave immediately answers, āIāll be right down.ā
Sure enough, it seems just a matter of seconds while I pull the file out of my boarding bag that Big Dave strides up to where Iāve set up my temporary office on a nearby handy marble cornice. āDave? How ya doinā?
David Reynoso is the Hollywood stereotype of a macho federal officer. 6ā4ā, 260, less than 5% body fat, a closely tailored uniform with pegged shirt sleeves to showcase his massive arms, heās what Erik Estrada wished he looked like in his prime. A man in a hurry, Inspector Reynoso has little time for mere pleasantries.
āYeah, OK. Letās see here . .I-259 check, I-160 ok, I-408 yeah, I-94 good, check for 65 bucks yes . . . Captainās letter.ā David slows just enough to get a good whiff of Captain Goās medical enthusiasm. āHoly Jesus!,ā he exclaims involuntarily.
āYeah. You should hear him tell it.ā
ā10 centimeters? What? Did he f*cking measure it himself?ā
I dunno, Dave. But letās try to get this poor bastard into the clinic, huh?ā
āWell, you know the drill. Iāll get it up to the airport for a decision ASAP (like most feds, he doesnāt spell out the letters but quickly pronounces it āa-sep.ā)ā
āOk, you got my cell, right?ā
āRoge-o,ā calls back the good inspector over his shoulder as he strides right back into the Alexander H. Munro (or whatever) Federal Building.
Sighing, I put the FUNDAMENTAL TEMPER file back into my boarding bag and, turning again to an empty Ocean Blvd, marvel at the quiet, peace and beauty of this balmy mid-winter SoCal morning.
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| Posted by: Hector_Ochoa on Monday, January 26, 2004 - 03:57 PM
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