Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Can it get any worse?
Why yes, yes of course it can.
One can travel all the way back into Blahyah armed to the friggun teeth with all the documentation required and find they can't take one's bloody fingerprints. Why can't they take one's god fucking dammit finger fucking prints you ask, oh I heard yers ask it! Because they had someone out the back in custody. And apparently, they can not take one law abiding *cough* citizen out there to be fingerprinted [all in the same area] while the holding cell contains one freaked out, violent, crack ho.
I just stared in disbelief at the smiling, over-cheerful midget who was informing me of this.
Can. you. believe. this. SHIT!
Little did the merry midget know, that standing before her was a quickly freaking OUT, possibly violent, occasional pot head with an immigration dead line to meet. For a minute or two, I did *squinty eyed* wonder if I'd flung myself over the counter, grabbed her by the throat and started garrotting her with the string chaining the pen to the counter; if they would indeed change their policy about taking my bloody fingerprints.
She said to come back tomorrow. I explained that I can't keep coming back, that I needed
to get this done, what's to say that you don't arrest and have someone else in custody tomorrow by the time I get in here. She just shrugged, explained and apologised, but really what could she do...I understood that shrug.
So what did the The Good Dick
and I do?
Why we rang surrounding police stations and asked a) if they had a fingerprint machine and b) if they had someone in custody. Yes and No were the answers at one station about two hours [one way] away. If we wanted to take the chance we were more than welcome to give it a shot. So off we sped, going hell to blazes, except along the one long arsed stretch of dirt road. All the while beseeching Bubbha
that the natives were behaving themselves while we travelled there.
My continuous pleasepleasepleasePUULEAAASE worked.
Although, I did have a close call once I was there, with a phone call coming in about a single goat duffing.
I have been FINGERPRINTED PEOPLE! Police headquarters will receive them and my application form by Wednesday. Now I can only hope that it is returned to me the Friday before my Monday immigration appointment. *live in hope...live in hope*
Halle freaakun lujah.
I must say, that’s a trip to be fingerprinted by that machine. A total of 18 prints are taken. Even the sides of your hands called the “writers print” is done. The lovely young senior constable and I were having a good old natter as we waited for the machine to beep and bleeep at the alternate positioning of my fingers, thumbs, palms and writers prints. I got an “A” for my ability to listen and comply with instructions, I would have had an “A+” but one had to be re-taken.
Yes, shut up I realise I was being graded against their usual clientele of drunks, bums and the aggro's.
Labels: Bastid Lawyer/Immigration
Posted by apositivepessimist ::
1:37 am ::
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