Killah in Germany

Work permit

Alright, soon I will get back to our regularly scheduled program of pictures and travels and pictures of travels, but first I have to write a post about the current situation regarding my work permit.

I must preface this by letting you know that I found, interviewed for, and landed a job in Berlin. With an unemployment rate being as high as 12% by some accounts, I was pleasantly surprised that it was so easy. What I did not reckon with was the long and arduous process that would be required of me before I could get my hands on a work permit, without which I cannot start my job. I signed a year-long contract with the company in May, and two months later I am still on vacation, so to say.

One persistent stereotype about the Germans is that they are super-efficient. I've seen examples of this efficiency (try sending a letter within Germany, it's like time travel - it arrives at its destination almost before you send it!), but one realm where it does not shine through is in bureaucratic processes. Now, having worked in administration for a major US university, I understand that bureaucracy and efficiency are wildly incompatible. When considering a bureaucratic entity, nobody thinks of efficiency; rather, words like "slow" and "cumbersome" tend to come to mind. Different offices, offices that in Germany have probably existed for centuries, have the need to (painfully slowly) review documents, give their approval or denial, and communicate this decision to the next office. However, with the advance of the technological age, you would think that that last stage could be accomplished mostly by email, or at least they could use some common software or something. Google Docs. I don't know. But instead the bureaucrats remain behind their desk, ignoring the shiny computer in front of them, choosing instead to send documents by post, wielding their official stamps like some sort of outdated medieval weaponry.

(I'm not kidding about the stamps, by the way. In Germany, if you want to be taken seriously as a business entity or a government official, you get yourself a rubber stamp, and quickly. For example, yesterday I went to the civic center to register my new residence. After chastising me for being late, which I was but only because I had waited politely in the hall for her to finish with her other clients, the lady behind the desk printed out my copy of the registration. That's when the stamp came out. She rapidly stamped 3 documents with a flourish, looking at me as if to say, "Zis is what you came here for, ja? To observe ze skill with which I stamp?" Later, I looked at the piece of paper and saw only one stamp mark, leaving me wondering what else she had stamped, and for what purpose.)

Thankfully, I have not had to have too much contact with these authorities. Using this new invention called "the Internet", you can now schedule appointments online, which, while usually being booked up weeks in advance, at least prevent you from having to pull a number and wait half a day in a stuffy room filled with cranky people. Instead, you can waltz right in at the appointed time, go straight to your appointment, take care of your business, and leave with that which you came for.

Unless, of course, you came for a work permit.

In this case, if your experience is anything like mine, you will book your appointment online, assemble and send all your pertinent documents to the immigration office, and then wait a month until your appointment day finally comes. On that day, you will get up, dress yourself as respectably as your meager backpack full of clothes will allow, and travel across the entire city to get to the immigration office, where a stern official will shoot you a withering look as soon as you walk into her office. "I don't understand why you are here," she will say, and you will stammer back, "Because... because I have an appointment, and I expect, uh, to get my, uh, work permit," your German-speaking capabilities crumbling under the weight of the slow realization that your work permit is not here, it is not yet ready, because apparently the central work agency in Duisburg has not yet determined whether the job you have already successfully interviewed for and gotten can be performed by a native. The lady behind the desk, unmoved by your distraught countenance, takes your passport and demands 20 euros to extend your tourist visa. She promises you, somewhat unconvincingly, that she will email you as soon as she hears from the central work agency, which could be as soon as next week or as late as three months from now. Three months! You stagger back to the subway station, on the verge of tears, knowing now that you won't be starting work on Monday as previously planned, and you start to wonder if that instead of re-booking your flight to the States for September, you should just get on the plane and go home, and pretend like none of this ever happened. Forget about Berlin. Maybe even set fire to your apartment while you're at it.

Two weeks later, you are back in the waiting room at the immigration office. It is 7 AM. You have pulled a number and are staring at it, your sleep-addled mind not yet able to decode the logic behind the seemingly random order of the numbering system. You are here because your extremely kind and understanding HR rep of your soon-to-be employer emailed you last week to impart wonderful news, namely, that the central work agency in Duisburg has given you the go-ahead. They confirmed it on the phone to your HR rep. Twice. And even though the stern lady has not yet emailed you, you remember her saying that as soon she received a response from the central work agency, you could come collect your work permit. This, coupled with your familiarity with email as a more-or-less instantaneous form of communication,  tells you that your permit is ready for pick-up, and you throw in an extra half a week, to give the immigration office time to process, just to be sure. You do your time in the waiting room, your eyes jerking up in unison with all the others towards the numbers display every time the chime rings, quelling your Pavlovian-flavored anxiety with equal doses of Queen on your iPod and Angry Birds on your iPhone. At 10 AM your number pops up on the screen, and you run off into a little office just off the hall, shoving your passport into the hands of a different woman from last time, this one slightly less severe-looking, fumbling to concisely explain in German the reason you are here. The first words out of your mouth are, "I have been waiting for my work permit." Hastily, the lady cuts in with what must be for her an oft-uttered sentence: "Then you must continue to wait." "But," you forge onwards, not ready to concede, "Duisberg said they sent the confirmation. Last week. To this office. Emailed." Full-length sentences are sacrificed in the name of telling this woman something, anything, that will get her to give you a work permit. The lady says she will check the email inbox, and sends you back out into the waiting room. When she calls you back in a minute later, claiming she has not received the email from Duisberg, you smile, thank her, and think again about burning something down.

Most people who immigrate do it because they have no other choice. Their families are starving, there is no work in their country, not even in the big cities, and so they find a country where there are better opportunities for them, a strong economy and maybe even a relative or two already living there. When they get there, there are setbacks with the government, if they can get registered legally at all. But they don't seem to mind waiting for months on end, because at the end of the process they will have a steady income which they can send back home to support their families.

My problem is that I am doing the same thing on a voluntary basis. I was lucky enough to be born in America, a land that has problems like obesity and poverty, sure, but it has an economy and good job opportunities, and just by being born there, I am allowed to work there as well. Without applying for a work permit. So why did I come to Germany and elect to go through this process? Did I think it would be fun? Was I expecting special treatment because I am American? All I know is that this process had better wrap up soon, because I am seriously losing patience. Four months is a long time to be without work, something which I will never willfully repeat; it's just too long and boring. For all of you reading this: please keep your fingers crossed for me. Or as the Germans say: "I press to you my thumbs."

EDIT: No sooner did I publish this post did the immigration office call me to tell me my work permit was ready for pick-up. Amazing! Ask and ye shall receive. First day of work is tomorrow, wish me luck!

posted by Kyla @ 03:00