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| Newark NJ |  Review on January 13, 2005: |
sparkofcreation
Rating:  | Review Topic: General Review
First off, let me say that I spent two whole days photocopying (using up an entire black ink cartridge, though as I have a Canon that’s less impressive than it sounds) and putting our photos in albums last weekend.
Gareth and I had been going back and forth over what to wear, my argument being that if I wore a suit I’d have to wear nice shoes, making me unable to walk to the train station and forcing us to pay for parking. We finally decided on a pink turtleneck sweater, khakis and hiking boots for me, and for Gareth his lease disreputable black jeans with a shirt and tie.
I also wigged out first thing in the morning and decided that we should take the 9:09 train instead of the 9:18 (our appointment was at 10:30 and Newark is about half an hour away by train, plus bus and getting through security). We left the house about 8:40, stopped by Bank of America to get money (it’s on the corner by the train station), and the machine finished printing Gareth’s tickets (I have a monthly pass because I work in Newark) just as the train pulled in. The train was a few minutes late so we got to Newark Penn Station at about 9:40. We went to the bus lanes and after a bit of confusion about which bus lane we needed to be in, caught the 9:50 #62 at Lane 3A. Note to anyone who needs to do this in the future: none of the buses from Penn Station stop right in front of the Federal Building and vice-versa. Ours let us off a block before.
The address of the building is on Broad Street (unsurprisingly, the biggest, widest street through Newark) but that entrance is for employees only. The public entrances are on Walnut Street, which has been roped off since 9/11. There are three public entrances: Entrance A for people with USCIS appointments, Entrance B for all other USCIS business including renewing green cards (I-90 applications), and a visitor entrance for everything else. We waited at Entrance A until a guard told us to go down to the visitor entrance where the line was shorter. The woman in front of Gareth (who was first in line) took forever to notice they were waving her in.
They let people in in groups of 10-12 or so, explain to everyone how to put their stuff on the X-ray machine belt, and then send them through one at a time. It was nothing unusual for me since I get scanned at work every day, except we had to put our coats through. My hair clip set off the machine. I’d heard you weren’t allowed to take cell phones in, but no one stopped us.
We went up to the 13th floor where there were guards checking everyone’s appointment letters and ID (they were pretty thorough about holding the ID up and checking to be sure it was the same person). They sent us in to a window at the waiting room.
The window was exclusively for turning in your interview letter, and there was a big sign saying that you couldn’t turn them in more than 15 minutes ahead. It was 10:12 but that didn’t seem to be a problem; the woman took the letter and told us someone would call our name.
We sat down on some gray-vinyl-covered chairs (the kind where a whole row is attached together) under a TV showing “The Tony Danza Show” (at least it wasn’t Fox News, which is apparently what the US Embassy in London shows) and then “The View.” Gareth says we had more stuff than anyone else there, but I don’t think that’s really true, except that most of them had a big folder like ours and a big photo album, and we had two photo albums. It just looked like we had more because we each had a backpack. More than half the people there had lawyers. (Gareth asked me how that made me feel and I said “Like I saved $3000.”)
By the way, the wait was profoundly boring, but the room was decent, with white walls, gray carpet, rows of chairs (admittedly some were torn), about 10 windows and one door leading (presumably) into the interview rooms. Overall I was surprised and impressed by how clean and modern the building was—and it was nice, with marble floors in the lobby, elevators that ran smoothly and announced the floor and direction out loud, wallpaper borders in the hallways, etc.
About 11:00 a group of people came in who coincidentally knew the group of people sitting next to us (all young men and women in their 20s, I have no idea what they were doing there) and had a very loud and enthusiastic conversation in Portuguese. I considered getting up and moving but thought that would be a little rude. (I think it bothered me more than Gareth, probably because I understood a good deal of it but it was white noise to him.) About 11:15 they called our name.
Since I’d seen the same 6-8 people calling people to interview, I’d assumed that behind the door was a hallway of perhaps a dozen small offices, but it was actually an enormous maze of cubicles (again, very neat, decent quality—far less depressing than my cube at work—and modern-looking). Our interviewer (a man about 30 whose cubicle announced his name was Michael Gold) led us straight to his cubicle.
First he asked us to raise our right hands and swear or affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help us God (which seemed weird to me, because I work in the court system, which no longer mentions God in its oath). Then he started asking us questions. He seemed a bit off, but I’ll get to that in a moment.
First he asked us for our passports. He read mine carefully and checked my appearance against the photo (didn’t check the amendment on the back page), then opened Gareth’s. He looked at the photo page, then opened it to the visa page and ripped out the I-94. He asked me how I met Gareth, how many times I’d been married before, if I had children, how many times Gareth had been married, if he had children, and his birthdate. He asked Gareth my birthdate and how old I was, then asked me how old Gareth is. He asked me our wedding date, if my parents attended, if Gareth’s parents attended, and how many people were there. He asked Gareth my sister’s name and what he does for a living. Then he asked me what I do for a living, what language I interpret and if we had a co-sponsor (we don’t). He opened the file and read my I-864 for a while, then asked for the medical exam and spent a longer time reading that.
Then he said “I’m going to place a stamp in your passport granting you permanent resident status, yadda yadda,” and explained about the conditional PR and lifting conditions. He asked for Gareth’s EAD and kept it. I was surprised that the “stamp” was actually four stamps (the one saying it was evidence of permanent residency, a date stamp for the expiration of the stamp [January 12, 2006], a date stamp for the expiration of Gareth’s status [January 13, 2007] and one saying he’d told us about lifting conditions) and a bunch of writing—Gareth’s A number, the words “New CR6” (I assume that’s “Conditional Resident” and a code for marriage-based?), his initials in a few places, and I forget what else. He said the green card should arrive in “a few weeks” but that the stamp can be renewed if the card doesn’t come within a year for “production reasons.”
The entire interview lasted under 10 minutes. (Gareth thinks it was under 5, but I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.) The officer didn’t ask for a single thing we’d brought. (Ten pounds of stuff we’d carried on our backs all the way from Highland Park, and the only thing he wanted was the medical exam!) After he handed Gareth his passport he asked if we still lived at the same address and if both our names are on the lease. I said yes and offered to show it to him, but he said that wasn’t necessary.
On the way out I asked Gareth if the officer had seemed nervous or distracted to him or that he was having trouble thinking of things to ask. Gareth said he had felt like our case had already been approved beforehand and the officer was just asking a few questions for the sake of form. I thought that was a bit silly, but it does fit with the lack of questions and not asking for any evidence whatsoever. (And ripping out the I-94 straight away. I guess since it’s expired it’s not needed anymore in any case, but I can’t see why he’d rip it out before deciding to approve the case?)
Gareth also says he doesn’t see why they asked him to come at all since the officer asked me all the questions except my birthdate and age, what he does for a living, and my sister’s name (which I don’t think he would have asked except that I had to count on my fingers how many people came to the wedding and I mentioned her—the look on his face was like “Ooh! A question I can ask!”).
I had excess energy to burn (I kick into high gear when I’m talking to someone professionally, I think it’s because I need to talk so fast at work) so we walked back from the Federal Building to Penn Station. It was about a 15-20 minute walk but I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who’s not already familiar with the city. When we got there a train on our line was just about to arrive, so we ran up the stairs and caught it. It left at 11:54 and we got back about 12:35 (it was a local, so it took longer). We went out for lunch at a microbrewery near the train station, then walked home. The whole thing lasted about five hours from door to door.
Then we both collapsed for what was supposed to be an hour nap and woke up three hours later. We’re also going out to dinner to celebrate tonight (I feel so extravagant, but it’s payday tomorrow).
The only bad part is that Gareth signed on with two employment agencies last week and one of them had called yesterday to offer him his first assignment, but it would have started today so he had to turn it down.
But, yay! Free from the USCIS until October 15, 2005!
By the way, after the interview I went to the ladies’ room and Gareth waited in the hall, and he overheard a lawyer telling her clients that when they say 90 days “they mean Day 90, not Day 89 or Day 91, or it causes far more problems than you would imagine.” Given the vagaries of the US Postal Service that seems odd (I can see needing to get it within a week, but on that day or you’re f****d? doubt it), but something to bear in mind.
PS Crossposted from the AOS forum.
PPS Believe it or not, in high school and college I was known for being particularly concise.
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Consulate / USCIS Member Review #180