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Waiting for the traffic light to change, suddenly I realized how much that road sign had in common with the situation I was in for quite some time. Three little dots in front of me: red, yellow and green, control my moves. They say: stop, be careful and go. It was too late for me to stop and although I was careful in my moves I couldn't go. Nothing more frustrating.
It all began in the fall of 1986. Standing at the gate of the American Embassy in Warsaw in the line of tourists who desperately wanted to visit United States, I raised my eyes as though I was asking someone from above for help - Don't reject me, please! My tacit request seemed to work because a few hours later I left the Embassy with a broad smile on my face and a blue and red stamp in my passport. The stamp was a ticket to the world. I made a first step to freedom and in my opinion to a better life. But the excitement was shadowed by a lot of unanswered questions: How would it be? Would I be able to manage? How would I cross the language barrier?... A big unknown and a big question mark.
The first meeting with the new wasn't so bad. The air of freedom which filled my lungs as I stepped down from the plane at the Kennedy Airport didn't differ from the air I had inhaled back in Poland. My No in perfect English impressed the custom officer who had asked whether I brought any kielbasa with me. The door to paradise stood widely open and I was glad to get an answer to at least one of my questions - it appeared that I was able to communicate with people.
My fear was premature because I was asked about kielbasa in Polish and the same language was spoken in the part of New York where I found a roof above my head. After a few disorganized days and sleepless nights during which I was in two minds, whether to go back to Poland or to stay here, I decided to take the bull by the horns. After all this was a country of an opportunity for everyone. There were a lot of people who had come here the same way I came and they were still here. Maybe there was a little difference between some of them and me in the way of entering this country but if they were able to settle down here I could try to do the same.
First and the most important thing to me, was to improve my English to the point that would allow me to communicate with people without someone else's help. After a few days of intensive study I was ready to check where I was standing in that matter. "Help wanted" signs displayed in windows of various stores cheered me up. The job market was huge and it shouldn't be any problem in finding livelihood, I thought. Although everything seemed to go pretty smoothly, I felt uncomfortable somehow. As a visitor I wasn't allowed to work but at the same time I had to do something to make my tomorrow better than yesterday. Some of the business managers weren't convinced about my ability to do what they expected but my persistence in finding anything landed me a job at two stores. At last I was making some money. At one store I was paid two dollars and eighteen cents an hour and at the other three dollars and twenty five cents an hour. It wasn't much but it seemed to be enough to pay the rent and to fill up my stomach.
Although I didn't have any intention to break the law I bent it twice a little. First I extended my stay in this country and second I took a job. But I didn't have any qualms of conscience because of what I did. There were others who did the same. After all as the saying goes - When in Rome do as the Romans do. By taking a job I didn't feel guilty either. People hired me because of two reasons - either they weren't able to find an American to do the job or the paycheck was too small for the American. So, as I thought, I didn't steal anybody's job. On the contrary I tried to help the American to do his job and taking money for what I was doing only made me feel better. It convinced me that I wasn't a burden to the public and what's more that I was worth something.
A dream about a brighter future almost came true but there was something that was hanging over my head like a huge gray cloud full of moisture which harbingered a catastrophe. That something was a new law issued by the government which made my life miserable. According to the law I was a potential candidate for deportation and my employer could be fined for hiring an illegal alien. I couldn't let that happen so the best way to avoid the punishment was to run away and hide. But where to go and for how long? The law was the law and I didn't want to bend it, even a little, any more. There had to be a solution. After all, as history taught me, America was a country of immigrants and everybody came here from somewhere. There were two hundred million people living here and I couldn't imagine that they would be deported one day because of the new law. Of course most of them were born here so as American citizens they couldn't face deportation but their parents, grand-parents and grand-grand-parents came here as immigrants. The only difference between us was that they entered that country through Ellis Island and I came here through the door at the Kennedy Airport. My understanding was that there was no Kennedy Airport back then. Anyway, whatever I thought, I had to find a way to solve my problem which would allow me to sleep comfortably at night.
At one point my employer expressed his willingness to ease my pain and decided to sponsor me. After a few telephone conversations he approached me with the news that made my blood run cold.
"I can't sponsor you".
"What? Why? How? What do you mean?" I stammered in despair.
"You don't have a Social Security Number", he sounded mysterious.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"To make a long story short you have to have permission for work and a number on which you pay taxes," his explanation confused me completely. "Without that number you are not allowed to work here and I can't hire you. I am sorry."
After that conversation my dream about a brighter future collapsed and although I didn't know exactly what he was talking about one thing was clear to me - I WAS IN BIG TROUBLE. I also didn't understand how come other people like me worked and I couldn't. Did they all have numbers? My investigation in that matter led me to the conclusion that I had to buy a number. The presidents in my wallet had been changing their faces very quickly and soon the most common face was the one of George Washington. The necessity didn't give me a chance to get acquainted to other famous individuals of American history.
One hundred twenty dollars was the price for a rectangular piece of paper which bore my name and a long number below it. But despite of having what I had to have I felt uncomfortable. It is said that money can buy everything but still I wasn't able to buy myself a peace of mind. Something wasn't right. By purchasing a SS number I didn't do anything wrong, I only spent money, but using it was a different story. Having considered all fors and againsts I came to the conclusion that it would be better for me to solve the problem some other way. Soon I found an organization which was helping people like me to settle down in this country. After a long conversation with the manager of that office I got a job with a promise from the employer that she would sponsor me. I become a butler, chauffeur, housekeeper and what not at a private residence on Long Island.
Three days after taking a post, the eighty six year old lady who promised to be my sponsor said that she was too old to teach me how to become a butler and that I should look for another job.
"But I am not throwing you out on the street," she cheered me up. "You may stay here until we find something else for you."
Looking at my reflection in the mirror later that day I found a few gray hairs on my head and deeper than usual wrinkles on my forehead. A big WHY? in a cloud appeared above my head. I lost a job in New York, I lost a roof above my head in New York and now, although not on the street, I was thrown out. What shall I do now? Where shall I go? Whom shall I ask for help? I asked myself.
A few days later I went to see an older couple who needed someone to live with them and to help them in their everyday life. The interview went well and I was hired as a live-in housekeeper. Although I made an effort to convince them that I needed someone who would be my sponsor it didn't make any impression on them. But at least I had a job and a place to live and I hoped that through my work I would show that I deserved to get a chance. A signature on the sponsorship papers meant so much to me that every time we talked I tried to switch our conversation to that subject. But either they didn't know what I was talking about or they pretended not to understand my point. So when the eighty six year old lady called one day that she needed me back and that she would sign any papers, I didn't think twice. What I didn't know was that the old lady found a particular pleasure in playing with other people's feelings. It appeared that I wasn't the only one whom she hired, fired and rehired. It seemed that to her people were like gloves - she would change them anytime she wanted to without a blink of an eye and in accordance with the mood she was in.
One month of humiliation and intimidation was enough for me and when I noticed her reluctance in fulfilling her promise to sign sponsorship papers I decided to look for another job. The couple whom I left so abruptly expressed their willingness to take me back. It made me think that either they weren't able to find anybody to replace me or they liked my performance of duty. Whatever the reason was I took the opportunity to go back to them. But this time I decided not to talk about a sponsorship leaving it to unfold itself.
Two months later my heart jumped with joy.
"We would like to help you with your legal status in this country, so we will sign any papers you need," my employers told me.
"Thank you very much," I almost exploded with happiness. "I don't know too much about the procedure of sponsorship so I think I would have to find a lawyer."
"My husband is a lawyer. He will be able to help you," the wife said proudly. "Would you, darling?" she turned towards her husband.
"That's great! What shall I do first?" I asked.
"I don't know," said the lawyer. "Ask your friends how they did it," he made a suggestion. His answer confused me a little. He was a lawyer but he asked me to ask my friends about something that he was supposed to know about. That short conversation convinced me that the sponsorship was not going to be as easy as I thought. But at least the first step was made.
Having taken my friend's advice that I should see a lawyer who deals with the immigration matters, I went to New York City.
"It costs five thousand dollars and it would take about five years," the lawyer said.
Five thousand dollars deepened the wrinkles on my forehead and five years made my hair stand on end. Having noticed my nervousness the lawyer continued his explanation about what should be done in order to get the immigrant visa but I didn't pay to much attention to what he was talking about. First I didn't understand his language which contained a lot of strange words, second my head was occupied with a lot of questions without answers. Where would I find that kind of money? What would happen if I got fired? Would I be deported during those five years? Why does it take so long? Was it the only way to get an immigrant visa? Did I have any guarantee that I would get the visa?... At one point during our conversation the lawyer asked for my personal data and a few minutes later the visit was over.
"If you make up your mind give me a call and we'll start the procedure," the lawyer shook my hand good bye.
After a week or so I received a letter from the lawyer's office. For consultation in connection with immigration matter involving visa status in US I owed my adviser seventy dollars. If I was born again I would become a lawyer, I thought filling out a money order at the Post Office. Working at the store in Brooklyn I was making two dollars and eighteen cents an hour. That was roughly thirty two times less than what I had to pay for ten minutes of my lawyer's time. My ignorance appeared to be very expensive but the train was already rolling and I was a passenger on it.
"Let’s begin the procedure of sponsorship," I called my lawyer.
"I am very glad you have made the decision," he said. "In a few days you should receive a couple of forms to be filled out. When you finish, send them back to me," he hung up.
A large envelope ornamented with small green triangles arrived two weeks later. It contained a few official forms called Application for alien employment certification. Filling out those forms I was rubbing my hands with pleasure - at last I had someone who knew what to do and how to make me feel better. My feelings changed drastically the very next day after I opened another envelope from my lawyer. For consultation, preparation and general work in connection with application for alien labor certification I owed my lawyer fifteen hundred dollars. This time I didn't find any pleasure in rubbing my hands. The fee was huge and I didn't understand what kind of consultation he had and with whom. All I had received from him were three blank forms which I had to fill out with the information about myself. It didn't take too much effort to prepare those legal papers and send them to me.
"The fee is so high because of the opening of your case," was the lawyer's explanation when I had called him. "Next fees should be less painful," he assured me. "By the way, I am sorry I can't proceed with your case so I passed it to my associate and you'll deal with her from now on," he surprised me at the end of our telephone conversation.
At first I was upset, I felt as if I was a ping pong ball but at least I was in good hands, I thought. If my lawyer knew what to do, he knew what he was doing passing my case to his associate. It seemed like my situation wasn't so difficult after all if anybody from the lawyer's office could take care of it.
Another large envelope with green ornaments arrived a few days later. Inside there were couple of official forms that had to be signed by me and my employer. There was also a sample of a letter that my employers should send to the Labor Department explaining why they needed me as a live-in domestic help. We also had to place an ad in the local paper which would say that they were looking for help. The idea of the ad in the paper scared me to death. What would happen to me if the caller was the perfect candidate for the position I was applying for? I asked myself. Would I be fired? Would I have to start everything from scratch again? The ad had to run for three days and those three days were the longest days in my life. And they were also quite expensive. For consultation, preparation, research and general work in connection with immigration matter I owed the associate thirteen hundred dollars.
One of my many duties at the new place was answering the telephone calls and informing my employers that Mr. X or Mrs. Y called or taking messages when my employers weren't at home. It was a chance to improve my secretarial skills and at the same time a chance to talk to other people and improve my English. There were not many calls but when it happened I enjoyed them. But the three days during which we were expecting calls from potential candidates for my position were nerve wracking.
The first call came on the first day of the appearance of the ad in the paper. Usually it was me who picked up the receiver but that day my boss was sitting at the phone. When it rung he jumped on his feet and nervously looked at his wife.
"You pick up," he said.
"No, you pick up," she responded.
"No, you are better on the phone than me," he praised her ability to talk to people.
"Well, what shall we do?" she turned to me while the telephone was ringing continuously. "What shall I say if somebody is calling about the job?" she spread her arms in desperation.
"Ask that person for a telephone number and say that you will call her or him back," I made a suggestion. My experience taught me that. Whenever I looked for a job I always was asked for my phone number with a promise that I would be called back but it never happened. After a while it was clear to me that asking for a phone number was a polite way to say I don't need you.
"You pick up," the lady of the house said to me. "Maybe it is not about the job. Maybe our friend is calling."
After my 'hello' the person on the other side of the line was talking about the ad in the paper.
"Hold on, please," I said and handed the receiver to my boss. "It's for you."
He listened for a while and then said. "Well, you sound very good, but we have other people calling, so could you leave your telephone number and we will call you back. Hello! Hello!" he put the receiver back on the phone.
"What happened?" his wife asked.
"He hung up on me!" he exclaimed. I was in seventh heaven. The way I told them to answer the phone worked. There were two more calls that day and they were answered the same way. At the end it appeared that people who called were interested in a position of a formal nature which included being part of a large domestic staff and wearing an uniform. They also weren't interested in taking care of a pet which played a significant role in that household.
After those three days I felt as if I was a marathon runner who was determined to overcome all the difficulties on the way to the finish line. Although I had a lot of miles in front of me the first curve, the first obstacle was already behind me. I called my lawyer to share the good news with her and asked what the next step would be. Our telephone conversation wasn't too long but for that consultation and general legal work I was "punished" with a bill for three hundred and forty five dollars. How lucky I was, I thought, to have a job which allowed me to cope with the legal expenses. But the lawyer's fees weren't the only one that I had to put up with. At one of the consultations with my advisor I found out that I should report my earnings to the government and pay taxes on them. It was very important to do that and it would help my case because it would prove that I had no intention to become a burden to the public. She even sent me a letter issued by the IRS which read that as an illegal alien I should report my earnings to the federal government.
"We can't file your Tax Return because you don't have a Social Security Number," I was told at the H&R Block Office. "You have to go to the SS office and ask them to give you a number."
The visit to the SS office made me sad and frustrated. To tell the truth I expected a little of understanding and help but instead of that an angry man said:
"We can't give you a number because you are illegally here, you don't have permission for work and what's more you can't work here. Can you imagine me going to your country and working there?" he asked.
"Sure, I can," I said. "You may go if you like and you may work if like."
"But your government wouldn't give me a SS number," he sounded like thunder.
"Well, we have different economic system over there, you know, and you wouldn't need to have a SS number," I tried to sound convincing.
"Anyway, you can't work here," he made an effort to end our conversation.
"But I already work, I make money and I would like to report my earnings to your government," I tried to get a hint from him what to do.
"You can't work here," he was stubborn. "I have a letter from the IRS explaining that even as an illegal alien I should pay taxes," I pulled out my last resort and I showed it to him. He went through the letter quicker than a wink of an eye and gave it back to me.
"But they don't give a SS number, we do," he ended our conversation with a proud smile on his face.
A few days later I went back to the H&R Block Office. This time a different lady at the desk listened to me attentively and then said, "Well, if they want you to pay taxes, there must be a way to do that," she pulled out a few forms and started to fill them out.
"You don't have a SS number but the IRS, in its letter, gives an identification number to all illegal aliens, which we may use," she said and I was grateful that at last I found a person who was willing to help me in that matter. When all the paper work was done it appeared that the IRS didn't have any mercy towards me. I had to pay taxes for the year I filed the Tax Report and I also owed them money for the years I didn't report my earnings at all. What's more they punished me for being late with my payments. It looked like a financial disaster to me but cards were already dealt and having a few trumps in my hand it would be quite a silly decision to quit the game.
The obstacles I stumbled against in my new life weren't convincing to my American friends. It was hard for them to believe that someone like me, who wanted to settle down in their country, had such difficulties in achieving his goal.
"I don't get it," said one of my friends with whom I played chess every week. "You are here for how long, three years?...
"Yes," I nodded.
"You work, make money, pay taxes and they don't want to give you a SS number?" he frowned. "Something is wrong here. I will go with you to the SS office. Maybe you didn't tell them everything or they didn't understand you."
As luck would have it we were interviewed by the same man I had talked to before.
"He can't work here," he sang the same song. "He doesn't have permission for work and that's why we can't give him a SS number."
"But he pays taxes. You take his money," my friend was driving a man into a corner. I noticed some nervousness in the man’s behavior but he knew his song by heart.
"He can't work here. Come back when he gets permission for work," he pulled out a folder full of papers giving us to understand that he was busy and there was nothing to add.
"Can't you call your lawyer and ask her to help you in this matter?" my friend asked after we had left the SS office.
"I can, but telling the truth I am afraid to do that. She charges a lot of money for every telephone call I make. In the lawyer's language it is called consultation, preparation, legal work and what not. And now when I have to pay taxes, penalties and lawyer's fees I am a little short of money. I hope that soon I get this permission for work and my nightmare will be over. There is a saying in my country that hope is the mother of stupid people but I will try to prove that saying wrong."
A month or so passed by and one day my heart jumped with joy. There was a letter from the Labor Department for me in the mailbox. With shaking hands I opened the envelope and my jaw dropped with disappointment. It was just an official confirmation that all my paperwork was received by that office and it would be taken for consideration. As if it wasn't enough, another disappointment came from the lawyer's office. I was informed that my case was transferred to another associate. When I called the office I was told that my previous lawyer got pregnant and that was the reason she couldn't work with me any more. I couldn't understand it but it seemed to me that the law firm had some kind of sport competition and the ping pong was the name of it. I wondered whether the new associate was going to shoot me with a new fifteen hundred dollars fee. After all I was a new client to him and he was new to me. But the new surprised me with a new kind of consultation, preparation and general legal work. I kept receiving from him detailed statements of the work he did for me, the telephone conversations we had and how much it would cost me. What he didn't know was that my telephone company had been sending me detailed statements that showed how many telephone conversations I had and with whom. When I compared those two statements, his and mine, it appeared that there was a big difference between them. What's more, some of my papers which should have been sent to certain departments were sent to somebody else. There were a few more mishaps on the part of my new lawyer which I was billed for and I didn't like it any more. I made a call to the lawyer I had opened the sponsorship case with, asking him, at the beginning of our conversation not to charge me for that telephone, because I wasn't going to talk about the consultation and preparation but about his associate's performance of duty. As a result of our chat, a month or so later, I found out that my bills were adjusted, that the associate didn't work for the lawyer's firm any more and that my case returned to the lawyer I start to work at the very beginning.
Five years passed by very quickly and I began to worry because there was no sign of either my permission for work or the green card. In the meantime my friends who were sponsored as domestic help enjoyed their freedom looking for better jobs and traveling abroad without a fear that they wouldn't be allowed to come back. I had to find out what was going on with my case so instead of calling I decided to go the New York City to see my lawyer in person.
"It's not true," he said angrily when I told him what I knew about my friends. "Your friends can't have their green cards yet. All of you are considered as a so called six preference sponsorship and it takes time to get the green card because it is the last preference of sponsorship. What's more you have to wait because there is a delay in reviewing new cases by the Immigration Office."
"Well... er...," I stammered, "I have seen their green cards, they are pink now and I have seen them going to visit their relatives in their native countries and I have seen them coming back. So something must be wrong with my case or with me. I understand that there are better preferences like doctors, engineers or priests and I understand that I am not one of them but I have a job that nobody wanted to take so it looks to me that I am as important as they are. Maybe your associates didn't do their job properly or maybe America doesn't want me. There has to be an explanation," I almost shouted.
"There is nothing wrong with you and America wants you but you must be patient. Everything should be fine, you'll see. Just be patient." he was trying to calm me down.
Working as a live-in domestic help wasn't an easy job. Seven years at one place gave me an enormous experience but at the same time I was at the edge of nervous breakdown. Disappointment, frustration, working condition, time I spent waiting for something to happen, money I spent paying for something that was going to make me happy but it didn't... everything forced me to take a drastic step. Although I knew that it would cost me dearly, I decided to quit. I decided to quit my job, to quit a strange relationship with my lawyer, to get over a loss of thousands of dollars and... I decided to get married. Very often, with my fiancée we talked about making it easier for me but I was stubborn. Although sooner or later we were going to be together I wanted to do it my way. Something was wrong and I couldn't figure out whose fault was it: mine, my lawyer's, my employer's or that whole immigration's law. To make my life even more miserable the American Embassy in Warsaw sent me a letter which read that in order to get my green card I had to leave the US, go back to Poland and wait for the immigration visa over there. My lawyer told me that it would take five years to get the green card - I waited ten years! It was supposed to cost five thousand dollars - it almost doubled that amount! Now they want me to go back to where I came from! And what? Wait another ten years?
I got married. My wife was a permanent resident of this country at that time and a year after our marriage she became an American citizen. It wasn't an immediate success, it wasn't my way, it took two more years but at last I got what I had fought for so long.
Once I watched a movie starring Robert Redford who played a politician who fought for a higher office. He spent a lot of time, a lot of money, energy, he had a lot of associates who were helping him to get what he wanted to get and at the end when he achieved what he had fought for he asked - "What now?"
It took ten years to make my day, it thinned my wallet drastically, it covered my head with gray hair, it added deep wrinkles to my forehead, it... and I ask myself the same question - "What now?"
Back in Poland I worked as a film editor and when I came to America I hoped that I would do what I knew how and what I loved to do. But the world didn't wait for me. As a marathon runner I crossed the finish line but I was far behind the winner. The traffic light in front of me has changed its color from red to green. It was a sign that I could go now. But the street was jammed and I had to wait.
How long?
I didn't know.
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