Biometrics

Today I went to the local INS office to have my “biometrics” done.  It’s yet another step on the path to a green card, and it’s a bit intimidating.  You receive a letter in the mail telling you a date, time, and location to go to, but you only receive it a few days in advance of your appointment so there’s little time to plan.  You’re discouraged from canceling, and are only allowed to reschedule one time.  If you reschedule, you’re allowed to pick from two different days of the week for your new appointment, but they still don’t give you a date—you just get to pick “a Wednesday” or “a Saturday”.  If you don’t show up for your appointment, they’ll toss out your green card application, even if it’s already cost you a few thousand dollars in fees.  Now you see why it’s a bit intimidating.  I received my notice last Friday for my appointment today.

My biometric-phobia started last night, as I checked and rechecked the letter from the INS (actually, Homeland Security), afraid I’d forget an item I was required to take with me.  I had three different letters they told me to take, as well as a passport, so last night I assembled them all in an envelope and put them in the car, on the passenger seat.  If I hadn’t put them there, I would have lay awake all night, worrying I’d lose them or forget them.  We printed out directions to the office (about 25 miles from our house) using Mapquest, and left one hour and fifteen minutes early, just in case we hit traffic.  The drive ended up being smooth sailing, so I’d say we arrived about 45 minutes early.

The building was nondescript, next to a strip mall, and labeled quite plainly with something like “Naturalization Services” or something like that.  I noticed the letters “INS” had been removed from the building, and I’m not sure if that’s a post-9/11 precaution, or just part of the steps of putting the INS under the Department of Homeland Security.  The door to the building was locked, but people were in line outside it.  A security guard would come out of the door, check that the person in line has their proper paperwork and ID, and only then would he allow the person ito the building.  I had Flippy with me as “my driver”, and while she was allowed inside, she also had to show ID.  The security guard checked my hands for “open wounds” which would preclude me from being fingerprinted, and also confirmed that our cell phone was shut off.  There was no smiling, no good humour, no light atmosphere—it was no-nonsense and all-business.  Once inside, the security guard gave me a paper on a clipboard to fill out, and then I had to go stand in a line to take a number.

The paper I had to fill out was quite redundant—my name, address, type of visa I was applying for, etc.  It also asked things like my height, weight, eye colour, and hair colour, and I was a bit surprised they’d ask me those things.  If this process was about identifying me, shouldn’t they be answering the questions after looking at me or measuring me?  I guess not.  I was honest about my weight, although that was sort of painful, so I hope it’s not listed on my green card for the next 10 years.

  I thought the place would be packed and that I’d have to wait at least until my scheduled appointment time, but I didn’t—they took me from the line almost immediately, as there were “biometric technicians” just standing around and waiting for applicants.  The tech took me into a large, open room in the back, which reminded me of a large medical lab because every corner had a small station with a table, a computer, and a chair.  The techs wore rubber gloves, which added to the lab-like atmosphere.  The tech I had was polite but formal, which didn’t help put me at ease, and I was a bit amused to think that I’d rather be having blood drawn than be having my fingerprints taken!  At least with a blood draw, you know what to expect, and the techs tend to be easy-going and chatty.  I think Homeland Security beats the easy-going out of their employees.

I first had my fingerprints taken via a digital process.  You stand beside the computer, the tech wipes your hands down with some sort of solution which makes a good contact with the scanner, and then you put your fingers on small, hand-sized scanner screen.  Four fingers of one hand then the thumb, then four fingers of the other hand and the thumb.  Then the tech takes an impression of each finger individually, rolling it across the screen while you stay “relaxed”.  The fingerprints are instantly sent to an FBI database, and once the tech gets a green box on the screen which says “passed”, he moves on to the next finger.  The only problem I had was with the pinkie finger on my left hand—I kept getting a red box and a message which said, “possible match, failed!”.  He tried to print the finger three times and then gave up, but told me it was nothing.  I’d better not end up in Guantanamo because of this.  He also pointed out I had something wrong with one of my fingers, possibly small burns from pool chemicals, as the tip of one finger was covered in small dots.  It was disconcerting as he took my hands in his and turned them over and peered at them, finally asking if I had cats—my hands are covered in small cuts and scrapes.  I told him I had three week old kittens I was bottle-feeding, and I think he smiled, but he didn’t say anything.  It’s creepy.  The techs talk as little as possible.  I had one final print done, just my left index finger, and I think that goes on my green card or is somehow embedded as information on it.

The next step was a digital signature.  You have to sign one of those plastic pads with a plastic pen, kind of like the ones you sometimes find at department stores when you pay with a credit card.  You can’t see what you’re writing as you do it, it doesn’t feel natural, and the signature ends up looking like a spastic chicken scratch.

My final step was a photograph, and I had to stand in front of a white screen like you might find at the DMV.  I asked the tech, “Could you at least tell me if my hair is messy?”  He smiled.  I then asked, “Should I take that as a no?”  He smiled.  I then asked, “Can I smile for the picture?”  He told me no, I shouldn’t smile—no teeth are allowed in the photo.  So, I look like a serial killer with messy hair, a spastic signature, and fingerprints from the FBI’s Most Wanted list.  I left there feeling really good about myself :P

Today’s fee was $70, but I’d paid in advance via my lawyer, so it ended just costing a bit of my dignity and a lot of anxiety.  Oh, I almost forget—the waiting room of the INS office had a TV showing “The Price is Right”.  Welcome to America!

Posted by Leigh-Ann on 07/05 at 07:06 PM

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  1. I wonder if becoming a citizen of say, Canada, is as intensive…

    Posted by Nio  on  07/06  at  05:15 AM

  2. Well, all they needed was the flourescently lighted 360 degree mirror to make one feel completely horrible! I’m sure that’s being installed in the next few months. I wonder if all interactions are videotaped, which would explain the uniform lack of humor from the techs? What a horrible job if you can’t smile or joke a bit. Glad this step is over.

    Posted by Diana  on  07/06  at  06:23 AM

  3. you’d think they could at least be a bit more amiable through the process.

    Posted by prajantr  on  07/06  at  07:58 AM

  4. Nio, I’ll have to ask around online about the Canadian immigration process, and offhand I can think of one American man in the process of immigrating to Canada.  I do feel that some of the more uptight aspects of my experiences (like being checked by a security guard before being allowed to enter the building) were distinctly “American in flavour”, as I’m sure any government building is considered a terrorist target.  I also forgot to mention the “cartoon” that was on the wall inside the lab area.  At first glance, I thought the cartoon poster was something to help waiting clients pass the time, but on closer look, it was a poster entitled, “How many threats to security can you find in this picture?  Report them to your security chief!”  I really doubt that prior to the Oklahoma bombing, these sorts of issues were on anyone’s mind.

    Posted by Leigh-Ann  on  07/06  at  12:18 PM

  5. I may not have made it clear in this entry that I don’t want to be perceived as “anti-American”.  I do sort of feel the immigration process is “anti-immigrant”, which is ironic given that so many Americans seem to support immigration as long as people immigrate via legal channels.  It’s taken me a decade and a half to get to this point in the process, it’s cost thousands of dollars, and at this stage I’ve already been tentatively approved for my green card.  Because of all I’ve been through, it would have been nice to have been treated “warmly” by INS officials, instead of feeling like a criminal or outsider.  I think I just want to feel welcomed, given that I’ve been through so much to get this far.  My perception is still that the government wishes I’d just go away.

    Posted by Leigh-Ann  on  07/06  at  02:32 PM

  6. Hey, I wonder if those Highlights magazines I saw in the waiting room were normal Highlights or if they too had “How Many Security Threats Can You Find in this Picture?”

    And hey, I’ll make you feel welcome, baby.

    Posted by Flippy  on  07/06  at  03:03 PM

  7. Wow, what a process. Very scary. And definitely discouraging since no doubt many potential immigrants get their application thrown out because of a mismatch with dates or inability to find the building (or think it is locked!)

    Posted by Kari  on  07/06  at  08:19 PM

  8. Wow. You know, I’ve travelled quite a bit and find customs and border agent types to be generally taciturn. I’ve always wondered why - I don’t see the point in being so standoffish, especially when people are going through this whole process to become a citizen!

    Posted by Carina  on  07/08  at  04:24 PM
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