So the immigration interview was so much less dramatic than I had hoped it would be. I had visions of Gerard Depardieu and Andie MacDowell dancing in my head, and, as we sat in the waiting room for our interviewer to call us, I thought suspiciously that those sprinkler heads might be cameras. R gets super nervous when anything official is involved. He tends to forget things like numbers.
Me: Maybe we should be smooching or something. You know, to prove our “ongoing marital relationship”.
R: I am not kissing in front of all these people. Did you see that guy with the turban? I think he’s Osama’s cousin.
Me: He’s not Osama’s cousin. Calm down.
Interviewer: Tran? Van Phuong Tran?
(Nervous-looking Vietnamese scuttle over from the corner)
R: This place makes me nervous.
Me: YOU make me nervous.
R: What’s your favorite color again?
Interviewer: R? R MiddlenameLastname? Lastname? Lastname???
Me: That’s us.
R, whispering: What’s your favorite color???
Interviewer leads us into the office, where two large stamps are prominently placed on the spotless desk, in front of a computer. One is red, and says APPROVED. One is black, and says DENIED. I stare at the stamps while she asks us to sit.
Interviewer: So I’m just going to ask you some questions about the paperwork and then we’ll talk about The Marriage.
Interviewer: Sir, what is your wife’s birthday?
R: July 18th, 1976. (Not even close to any date that’s remotely related to our family.)
R (completely lost at this point): Um, yeah. July. No. June. No. July. JULY!
Interviewer: Sorry, ma’am. You can’t help him.
Me: Sorry. (Bowing head, praying to GOD that he remembers. Wondering how many answers you can get wrong before they deport your butt home. Wondering how I can telepathically send the answers to his head- and what? Like he didn’t KNOW?? How is he forgetting my birthday?? How is he forgetting the MONTH?? This is the FIRST QUESTION!!! We’re DOOOOOOMED)
R: OH. Sorry. I mean RealDate.
Interviewer: Right. OK. And sir, where was she born?
Interviewer: Um. Yeah. The city?
R: New York.
Interviewer: Right. That’s the staaaaaate (like to a 4-year old). I need the ciiiiityyyy.
R: New York.
Interviewer: Right. (Sighs)
Yeah. At least I know where I was born. I can see the cogs turning in the Interviewer’s head. She is mentally reaching for the black stamp. I know it. Must…take…drastic measures.
R: Have you seen the pictures of our kids?