Monday, March 2

I love Oaxaca immigration

The problem with the immigration office in Oaxaca has always been the same. They change the requirements to process a new or renew the work visa on what seems to be a daily basis. Previously, I had always called in advance to find out what the new and improved requirements are, which has always turned out to be a fool’s errand because one document or another is always required beyond what they mention over the phone. Now, the fool’s errand is not even possible. I have to renew my visa and upon calling I’m told that they can no longer tell us what is required over the phone and that we have to come into their office for them to tell us. I tried explaining to them that I’m a seven hour trip outside of Oaxaca and continued to explain to them how much sense it makes to travel that distance only to find out what I need. After bickering in a language in which I only have limited proficiency with two different people, I was finally told that I could check the website. Now, wasn’t that easy? I found where work visa update requirements are listed, and dutifully prepared the mentioned documents, copies, etc. Naturally, I always bring every scrap of paper I think they may ask for beyond that – just in case.

 

When I arrived in Oaxaca City, the officer asked me for a mountain of documents not mentioned on the website, some of which I was missing of course. I told her that her boss told me that the website is accurate. Following the contradiction match, said boss came to the desk to see what the commotion was about. She, the very same woman who told me that the requirements on the website are correct and up-to-date outright denied ever saying such a thing.

 

An argument ensued about the retarded nature of having no idea what the requirements are for certain visa processes. Thirty minutes or so pass until they finally hand me a sheet of 14 required documents necessary to renew my type of visa. The federal requirement noted on the website consists in 4 documents for a work visa renewal.

 

After reviewing the new and improved requirements which I’m sure will prove to be tentative, I realized that at least one of the documents she asked for this time around weren’t on this list either. Also, I found that the same document is listed twice, but worded differently.

 

The kicker was when she told me that NOBODY HAS EVER HAD THIS PROBLEM BEFORE! Excuse me? EVERYBODY I KNOW HAS THIS PROBLEM! There’s no such thing as just one trip to the Oaxacan immigration office.

 

Why couldn’t they have sent me this document via email?

Why does the Oaxaca office, a branch of a federal department, have requirements that differ from the federal requirements?

Are they intentionally fucking with us?

 

The day rounded off quite nicely when my bus back to Tuxtepec had a head on collision with a drunk driver in Butt Fucked Egypt. More on that later.

Sunday, March 1

Law school

When I first came to Mexico I was dizzy with the experience of it all: Customs, misunderstandings, different perspectives, and the challenge of learning Spanish. After two years I can comfortably say that I’ve done what I’ve accomplished to do. I’ve done it, and I’m done.

 

I applied to 10 tier three law schools and have been accepted to 6, waitlisted by 2, and rejected by 2. I was accepted to two schools in my hometown of San Diego, of which it was hard for me to turn down. San Diego is simply far too expensive and the schools offer as much as the other schools I have been accepted to. In the end, I decided on St. Mary’s in San Antonio TEXAS. That’s right – Texas – the state I’ve spent my whole Californian life making fun of. Despite my life-long bias I made a choice based on reason. The cost of living in San Antonio is very low, the city is big enough, has a large Mexican demographic, and the school is a host to clinics and concentrations that interest me. Not to mention. Further, based on ABA stats, the school has a high bar passage and employment rates for graduates. Bias and reason notwithstanding however, I’ve realized that living in southern Mexico has sufficiently calloused my quality of life standards to the point that almost any American city will seem luxurious, be it San Antonio, San Diego, or Nashville.

 

All in all, I’ll be outta here sometime in July…  Two years have gone by pretty quickly, but now that I have something to look forward to I’m sure that the next five months will crawl.

I got burgled

A couple of months ago, Carolina and I got our apartment busted into while we slept. I suppose I have only myself to blame for leaving my keys and shiny things within plain sight of an open window. The table where I left these things, laptop, cell phone and camera, weren’t within arm’s reach of the window, but certainly, and demonstratively, within broom’s reach. The burglar used the broom we leave outside to drag the table to the window to grab the keys and conveniently let himself in. The keys were left in my plant pot outside. Because the key was bent, I suppose that he used it to push the door toward the hinges to keep it from squeaking. I was thinking that perhaps he could have bent it from pushing it into clay to copy the key, but I don’t think that would have bent it and it would be a lot easier to just pocket the keys altogether. At any rate, we’ve got to change the lock.

 

The most alarming part was that my shorts, which I always take off at the side of my bed before hitting the sack were found next to the open door when we woke up in the morning. He made off with a measly 200 pesos and interestingly, my debit card was pulled out but not taken. Why didn’t he just take the whole fucking wallet? Supposing that he took a picture of my card or wrote it down to use online or something, I quickly got it replaced. He also rummaged through our drawers in the bedroom, not finding anything work taking. Everything was carried off in my own backpack.

 

A CD magazine was fished out of my neighbor’s window, but it seems we were the only ones that really got it.

 

I asked my students if anybody had ever broken into their house while they slept. They said “ay, muchas veses!”

 

Since then we’ve been looking for a new apartment, but with no avail. Everything is either outrageously expensive or much more slummy than what we’re working with now. I’ve put on a deadbolt and ghetto alarm, which has helped us sleep at night. We still don’t close our windows because the heat and humidity is unbearable. Some mornings we find the corner of the curtains pulled to the side. Evidently somebody is peaking in while we sleep, but they can’t get in unless they kick down the door which would wake me up, prompting me to stab them in the face with the steak knife I keep by my bed.

 

I’ve since replaced what was stolen and only use my laptop in my bedroom where it is out of sight.