Praise to the Visa Gods

As if moving to and getting settled in a new country doesn't produce enough confusion, immigrants and expats must also gain permission to work and get paid in their new land. For those lucky souls and their spouses whose companies whisk them away to the wonderful world of living abroad, getting a visa is no issue. Take your contract and passport to the necessary office and a shiny new working and residence visa is slapped right into your passport and ready to come home with you. It really is a wonder to witness.

And then there's those less lucky folks who come here following a dream/without an employment contract. Us in this littler, leaky slowly-drowing boat have to do a bit more leg work than those employed people on the glam cruise ship that hands out free visas with each daiquiri order. White it may, on occasion, be true that folks traveling on the cruise ship have to jump through a hoop or two to get their visa organized and in working order, it is much more true that the rest of us have to do back flips, cart wheels, and somersaults in order to get through those same hoops. And for some of us, including myself, we must do it twice.

Until I visited Brazil I didn't know much more about visas other than the fact that they came in handy during times of need in undergrad and were very unforgiving after the fact. My exchange to Brazil, however, introduced me to the world of those visas outside of the credit world. Tourist visas, residence visas, and working visas are not nearly as fun to play with as visa credit cards, but similar to the money that make Visa cards essential, these extremely confusing and hard-to-come-by visas are a necessary evil.

The trials and tribulations of my working visa started the day I responded to Seedlings' help wanted ad in August. The response concluded with, "I see you have lots of experience with children, which is a must for us (smile) and you seem like you would be a good fit (smiiiiile). Just one more question: Are you legal to work in Germany? (straight face/borderline frown)

The phrase Catch-22 has never been more applicable than when applied to the issue of working visas. Though it sounds simple it is actually quite horrible: to get a visa you need a job. Seems easy enough, sure. But there's more, of course: ...and to get a job you need a visa. Yep. It's pretty much horrible. Because of this inexplicable conundrum a few passengers in the Little Tugboat that Couldn't just jumped ship.

Very lucky for me Rachael and Grit have as much patience as their hearts are big and once I was hired they agreed to help me do everything I needed to do to get my visa. This makes them especially wonderful because I was the only Seedlings candidate that was, let's say, 'not-yet-legal' to work in Germany. So, shortly after I was hired I set out on my work-visa journey. With a letter of intent in hand I gathered up the materials I neeeded to make this visa thing happen. One visa requirement is proof of health insurance. Though we researched and asked our German pals until we (and they) were blue, Reggie and I were still at a loss as to how to decide upon proper health insurance. Germans, as well as those employed by German companies, have the opportunity to participate in Germany's socialized health insurance system. Because I am a freelance teacher, I haven't been invited to that party and thus my options are limited. Lots of ToyTown research led me to the nicest insurance broker in insurance broker history, who within two days set me up with appropriate coverage, and he even helped me to understand it, all for free.

Once insurance was set I anxiously and intimidated-ly took my application materials to The Welcome Center to hand over to the Visa Gods. Though not a pleasant experience, I successfully submitted my app and was told to expect a phone call within a week to let me know if I was approved. By this time my three-month tourist visa was expiring so a renewal was necessary. After all, no one likes to be deported.

The week went by, then ten days, and at two weeks without a phone call I placed my first phone call to The Welcome Center. "We are waiting for the answer, Frau Dean. We will call you." And so it went, every Monday I called and every Monday I received the same answer. I began to think that perhaps those were the only English words the gentelman on the phone knew. That was until five weeks passed and my grumpy voice phone voice earned me a new response, "The employment office has not received your application because it is lost in the mail and we do not have any record of your application so you will need to apply again."

What? No.

Oh forget it. I'll be right there.

With much anger and resentment I marched my angry, rain-soaked self downtown to The Welcome Center and was 'greeted' by the less-than-friendly employee that 'helped' me with my application materials the first time. After far too long of a discussion she agreed to copy my materials and re-mail my application. Though skeptical, I left without proof that my application was mailed and only half-expected that in-one-week phone call they promised.

So our Monday convos continued. Reggie started having weekly conversations with them, too...and those continued. I paid visits to my pals at the Welcome Center and no matter our pleading no one offered any form of assistance. November and December went like the wind but alas, I continued to be visa-less.

2011 marked the start of a new attitude towards the visa situation: get it and take no prisoners. I made an appointment and swore it would be my last. Grit agreed to to accompany me so we could be sure that the language barrier was not the problem. So together we went, determined, yet skeptical. We spent most of our wait rolling our eyes, discussing what we'd do when they came out and said we had no information, and were so distracted by our unfriendly chit chat that we were both taken aback when my beloved Frau Weiss came out to confirm two last pieces of information: You teach, yes? And how much is your rent? Upon my answers she smiled and said, "Okay. Go pay your fee and I'll get your visa."

What?! No.

Oh forget it. I'll be right there.

Praise the Visa Gods. I'm finally legal, people. Though I have a strong commitment to viewing money as a necessary evil, I'm really, really looking forward to finally having some of that evil in my pocket.