Please Don't Deport Me

As the song goes, it [truly] is no fun, being an illegal alien. Because now I am one, officially. Upon arriving in Ireland, I was told at customs that I would be required to report to the immigration office within 30 days in order to receive my Garda card....or police id card in layman's terms. As of today I have failed to do that. Why prove to be a lawless visitor to a land that up until now has shown me nothing but kindness? Where the natives bake me loaves of bread and offer me soothing lozenges when illness besets me? Why? One, laziness. Two, I wasn't really an official student at UCD until just this week.

Please, allow me to explain.

What the Garda (police) require of me when I report to them are 6 things. They are as follows:

Passport
UCD student card
Evidence of financial support
A letter from UCD stating the duration of my program
Receipt of fees paid to UCD
€100, paid by a credit/debit card or bank giro (what the hell is a giro? I thought it was one of those Middle Eastern sandwiches. Apparently, in this part of the world a sandwich pays your way.)

Now, as stated, I only obtained full student status as of this week. My fees were finally processed yesterday, the student card issued on Tuesday (Oh, and it's a doozy of a photo...I appear enshrouded in a mysterious golden light, as if rendered divine. They'll probably think it's a fake, I do.) Letters and receipts were requested and received just yesterday. Now, the only thing holding up the works is that money business. I did in fact receive a check for cold hard euros late yesterday afternoon. I am no longer the destitute blogger that whined about rice and seasoning a mere 24 hours ago. No, I am now flush with cash and eating...well, still rice, but now it's rice of wealth and power. However, that said, that gosh darned Bank of Ireland won't issue me any kind of statement until Tuesday, when the check clears, a check, by the way, drafted from their own bank. Ugh. As for the giro, I don't where I'll get a good tahini sauce to go with it. It is a strange land I find myself in.

So, tomorrow I will traipse down to the immigration office, which I am told is a nightmare of lines, sorrow and nasally offensive humanity, in order to wait no less than 3 hours (!) to discover my fate. Will I be deported for my lateness? Will my lack of financial solvency prove to be my undoing? Will they offer a light snack while I wait? Well, all those I've quizzed on these crucial points seem to be of the opinion that I will receive a light slap on the wrist (saucy) and a pass to return as soon as possible with giro in hand. Many people have said to me something along the lines of, "Well, it's not like your from North Africa...you're an American for Christ's sake, it will be fine." Another reason to celebrate being an American.

Perhaps at some point in the near future I should talk about all those movies I've been watching. But that would sound so pretentious. Perhaps I'll just make fun of them.