A Wasted Day

I had an appointment for August 16th at 10:00 A.M. to go to the "Instituto Nacional de Migración" to hand in all the necessary documents to receive my Mexican residency visa.  Alejandro had to take his dad to a doctor's appointment that morning, so I was on my own to travel across town via public transportation.  The "Instituto" is located about 12 miles away from Alejandro's house in the ritzy district of Polanco, and according to Google Maps, it would take me about an hour and a half to get there.  Not wanting to take any chances, I left the house at 7:00.  With my envelope of documents in hand, I walked to the Metrobus station just a couple of blocks from the house. I got off the Metrobus at a stop by the nearest subway station.  I took the Metro to the end of the line and then transferred to another subway route.  Of course, at that hour of the morning the bus and subways were crowded like cans of sardines.

I got off the second Metro line at the Polanco station.  Google Maps told me that from there I could take a local bus to the "Instituto", or I could walk for about 30 minutes.  I still had plenty of time, so I opted to walk.  I wasn't even walking that quickly, but it only took me less than 20 minutes to reach my destination.  I asked an employee at the gate where I should go for my appointment, and she told me to report to the side entrance ten minutes before ten.  With time to kill, I walked down the avenue about a block and found a little cafe that was open for breakfast.  

I went back to the "Instituto", and, shortly before ten, a woman started reading off names.  I clearly heard "William".  The last name was mangled beyond recognition, but I figured it had to be me.  The woman checked my passport, and I was allowed to enter the building.  I sat and waited until it was my turn to go to one of the counters.  The lady at the counter looked through all of my documents.  There was one document missing, a paper that had to be filled out and signed by both my husband Alejandro and me.  Not only that, but I needed the original... not just the photocopy... of Alejandro's identity card.  She gave me the document that I needed.  She said that at 3:00 that afternoon, I should wait in line on the street on the other side of the building and make an appointment to come back the next day.

I called Alejandro and gave him the bad news. He was planning to come to pick me up after his father's appointment, and he said would be there as soon as he could.  It was only 11:00 by this point.  I went out to the street and discovered that there was already an enormous line of people waiting to make an appointment.  Just then a couple of policemen came and said that they could not be lined up on the street this early; they would have to come back later.  The people were outraged and started yelling at the police.  "We have been waiting since early morning!  We aren't going to give up our spots!  The sidewalk is a public space!  We aren't causing any trouble!  Send your supervisor out here!"  The young policemen gave in, and the long queue of people remained in place.  I took my place at the end of the line and realized that I was going to have a long, long wait.

The line extended to the entrance to the "Instituto" at the end of the block.

As I waited, the line grew and grew behind me and extended down the block in the opposite direction.

I was conversing with a young Mexican fellow by me.  His specialty in school was immigration law, and he works as an agent hired by people requiring help in their migrant status.  He is in line here on a daily basis making appointments for his clients.  He comes prepared for the long waits, and kindly offered to let me sit in a folding chair that he had brought.  

Alejandro finally arrived and joined me in line.  The weather had changed from a pleasant, sunny morning to a cloudy afternoon.  It started to drizzle for a while, and fortunately Alejandro had an umbrella with him.  The temperature was in the 60s F, but with the dampness and breeze it felt chillier.  Both Alejandro and I were wearing short-sleeve shirts and were cold.  While we waited, he decided to go to a clothing store he had seen nearby.  There he bought us a couple of cheap sweaters.

At last, shortly before four o'clock, the line started to move.  People were allowed through the gate into the courtyard in front of the building.  The previous week when we were there, there were just two people under a tent in the courtyard giving appointments. This time, people were allowed to file into the building a few at a time.  There were several people working at the counters, so the line moved more steadily.  By 5:00 P.M., after waiting for six hours, I had an appointment to return the next day at 11:30 A.M.  I was told that the residency visa would be issued immediately, that another trip to the "Instituto" will not be necessary.

The story will continue...