I’ve been spending a lot of time in lines recently. Not
lines at stores but in lines and waiting rooms accompanying young adults trying
to help them bureaucratically argue why they should be regularized.
Inside a Prefecture |
You look at the time on your cell phone; put it away. You
slouch on the hard bench; you stare at television news that repeats every five
minutes. You look at the time on your cell phone; put it away. You look at the
other people in the room until they return your glance. The waiting-order
numbers screen was rolling for a minute there but now hasn’t blinked in more
than five minutes. You look at the time on your cell phone; put it away. The swelling
stress of the administrative encounter leaves you less and less prepared to
actually articulate what you are doing there.
I felt a bit relieved to see a paper about why standing in line drives you mad. Being anxious makes waits feel longer. Being alone makes
them worse than being with someone. Not knowing how long you have to wait makes
them seem longer. But the more valuable
the service, the longer people are willing to wait. [Not on this list is being forced to wait in
terrible conditions! This morning asylum-seekers waited outside in the sub-zero
gusts as the police barked directions in French. Outside of Paris people sleep
outside in order to be received the following day.]
Outside the Prefecture of Bobigny |
So for immigrant kids in high school or solo adult workers
in need of official paperwork, they are willing to stay anxiety-ridden awaiting
the verdict on their future in administrative Prefectures around the country.
People double and triple check their photocopies of photocopies that they
already checked before leaving their apartment. You might miss your turn if you
decide to go to the bathroom, better hold it.
Will you be one of the selected? You’re not so sure after
the counter clerk barked a command at you and whispered under her breath. They call out your name…
In France, some 30,000 people a year (since 2005) come out
at the other end of the tunnel with French residence cards.
In the US, the undocumented stay waiting. And the waiting
room is impatiently filling up.
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