Gringo In Peru

What would you do for $1000 dollars?

This isn’t the tag-line for a new reality TV show. It’s my reality and I’m not sure what the answer is.

Through the English Factory™ I was enrolled in a Peruvian retirement account. Since I’m not a Peruvian national, I’m entitled to close the account and take the money. Right now, the balance is just a few hairs short of one grand. Sounds great on paper, but it might cost me about that much to get it.

Finding out what we need to do was a one month odyssey. Vanessa spent a lot of energy trying to get in contact with anybody from the investment company. Phone calls and e-mails went unreturned. A supervisor at the English Factory™ was nice enough to call the company for me. He actually got a hold of someone and passed along Vanessa’s contact information. Still, nobody called.

Yesterday I hit paydirt. A representative was coming to work to talk with my boss. This was my one chance for guidance. Through an interpreter, here’s what I found out.

First, I need to gather a bunch of paperwork. Includeing certified copies of my Peruvian ID, American passport and a letter from the English Factory™ saying that I’m no longer working. I’ll also need letters from my bank and retirement accounts in the U.S. proving that I’ve had accounts established for at least three years.

So far so good. Getting that done won’t be difficult, a few phone calls and a trip to a notary could get that ball rolling. The letter from the English Factory™ is being drafted as we speak. (I need it to close my bank account.) Once that paperwork is secured, things get unnecessarily complicated.

The pile of paper mentioned above needs to be “approved” by a Peruvian government agent in the U.S. The nearest Peruvian Consulate to where we’re going is Chicago. I know, I’ve been there. It does travel to the Twin Cities area once a year. Still, that’s a trip somewhere to pay a few bucks for somebody to stamp a letter.

Once stamped, it all needs to be sent back to Peru and delivered to Ministry of Exterior Relations. Then, the letters need to be officially translated from English to Spanish by a government approved translator. Finally, they will be delivered to the investment company who will eventually transfer it to an account of my choice.

To get all this done I’ll need to give somebody here, likely my mother-in-law, power of attorney. We were planning to do that anyways. It’s an insurance policy just in case there are any loose ends we need to tie up here when we’re gone.

Here’s a recap, I’ll need: three letters, a trip to a notary, a trip to either Chicago or the Twin Cities, some official stamps, air mail back to Peru, grant somebody power of attorney, find somebody to stand in line at the Ministry, find a translator and then wait to get the cash.

Whew!

After spending a year tracking down and filling out immigration papers I thought we were done. No such luck.

It’s a lot of time, energy and unknown fees. Vanessa and I were wondering if its all worth it.

What say you?

Today is my last day at the English Factory™.

It’s halftime. The morning shift came and went. Some students passed, others failed. At least nobody cried, yet. There’s still the afternoon shift to go. I hate it when I make people cry. Although, I don’t really make them cry, they make themselves cry. Generally speaking “repeaters” (That’s the factory’s preferred word. Students repeat, not fail.) can fall into three broad categories.

The first group are always late or miss class at least once a week. That’s a lot considering there are just 18 days of class. The most common excuse is “I had tests at my university.” Which is all well and good, but what about your English class?

Many college students need an intermediate level of English to graduate in their fields, but their respective universities don’t offer English. No problem. English Factory™ to the rescue! This set up creates its own problems. Many students don’t take their English studies seriously. Hence the excuse in the previous paragraph.

The second group sees the factory as a social outlet. For these students, English class is a place to meet their friends, have a few laughs and be away from the house. They generally don’t participate in class, don’t pay attention and are too busy chasing boys and/or girls to care. They are in English class because their parents feel it’s important for their future, but they don’t. Teenagers fall into the category. There are certain hours of the day when the factory is full of 15-year-olds with raging hormones and equally raging teenage apathy.

Our third group is an unfortunate lot. They try hard, but just don’t get it. They participate in class, do all the work, always arrive to class on time and still struggle.  I try to give these students an extra push, maybe giving them more help than the others, but it just doesn’t sink in. These students break your heart. You can see the effort in their eyes, their brains churning for an answer all to no avail.

Overall, teaching has been a rewarding experience. I have nothing but good things to say about my colleagues and supervisors. They have been helpful and friendly. In fact, there was a time when I was seriously considering heading back to school for an ESL degree. Even at a time when school districts across the country are cutting back, ESL teachers are in demand. Plus, there’s a boat load of federal grants available for those pursuing a degree. Here’s a dirty little secret about many ESL teachers, few are actually qualified. Many are English teachers who were called to duty by school districts because of the lack of available ESL teachers. I even went as far as e-mailing some universities back in the USA about their programs.

Unfortunately, I won’t be studying anytime soon. First, it will be impossible with a baby on the way and my new roll as sole provider for our soon-to-be family. Secondly, I lack an education background. Any program I enroll in (graduate or bachelor’s) would require at least two to three years of study. A graduate program would be full-time with no opportunity for a part-time job on the side. Oh well, there’s no harm in dreaming.

My job hunt has slowed to a crawl. I think I’ve now officially received rejection e-mails from every job I’ve applied for. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to use all my free time to apply for jobs, rework the resume and start using an American address on my resume. It can’t hurt. We’ll be back soon enough.  If a prospective employer calls my parents can say I’m out of the country until May 20th. They won’t be lying.

Vanessa just couldn’t wait.

She found out her doctor couldn’t do the fancy 4D ultrasound until next week. In her mind that was just too long. So, she made an appointment last night, with another doctor.

As you can see, it was a success. V told me the baby has my nose. I can’t tell. She also said the baby spent most of the ultrasound with its arms crossed. Which you can sort of see.

(Although these may look like the same picture they are different, trust me.)

Of course, I wasn’t anywhere near the clinic when this was going on. My evenings belong to the English Factory™.

I’m happy to report everything inside Vanessa’s tummy is A-OK. The pregnancy is progressing normally. Not that we had any worries, but it was nice to know Baby V face is healthy.

So who is Baby V Face?

It’s a girl!

She will truly be Baby V Face (or should that be Lady V face) with daddy’s nose.

What if she has my face? Then she’ll be Lady G.

Either way, it’s exciting.

Vanessa is ready to start buying pink.

Turns out we won’t be finding out who Baby V Face is this weekend. Vanessa’s super-high-tech 4D ultra-sound appointment was canceled. Maybe next weekend. The baby will remain a mystery for now.

I’m dealing with my own junk. Last night I was super cold, then super hot. I still got up for work this morning. This morning it felt like I was walking on spaghetti legs, but I soldiered on through the morning shift.

I’m dumb.

I came home on my break and took a nap, but continued to sweat like a pig. Turns out I’ve got a 101ºF fever. The doctor checked me out, but I didn’t have to leave the house. The doctor comes to you. The English Factory™ orders it up and the doctor comes in an ambulance looking thing. They told me it would take 45 minutes, two hours later I was checked out. Unfortunately, the doctor doesn’t bring drugs. Somebody will have to run to the drug store for me.

No work for me!

Now if I could only stop sweating.

In honor of my sickness, I’m leaving you with a video we show the English Factory™ kids about going to the doctor.

Baby V face isn’t playing nice.

V had her ultrasound, but the baby kept the machine from doing its sex finding magic. The doctor says all is well with the pregnancy, which is good. Baby is just being shy about his/her baby parts.

For all of you waiting on pins and needles about baby’s gender identity. Don’t worry. A fancy schmancy 4D ultrasound (where they find an extra dimension is beyond this writer) is set for Saturday. We should know then.

Stay tuned.

Today we may know if we will have an Annika or an Ethan.

Vanessa has a doctor’s appointment and since she is close to the 20 week mark we may find out if the little bundle of joy will have a pink or blue blanket.

There’s always a chance that the baby won’t be in a position to let the ultra-sound do its magic. So, we might not know. Then again, we may know. Will you know? I’m not sure. Unveiling the baby names was an interesting test. While nobody blasted our names, I was surprised that people didn’t like that our list was made pubic. So the sex of baby V face may remain a mystery until birth or until my wife posts it on Facebook. I’m guessing the latter will happen.

Last night V asked me if what I think it is. I think its a boy. I know what you’re thinking. All men want boys. I’ve talked to dad’s who admit they were disappointed when they found out they were having a girl. I’m not that guy. I want healthy, boy or girl doesn’t matter. The only reason why I think boy is because my sister just had a girl. That’s all.

Since we are at the 20 week mark, that means the baby could start kicking. Vanessa says she hasn’t felt anything, yet. That will change.

Big things are happening.

We’re back from the beach and back to work.

After four days of relaxing, I came back to the most welcoming of rejection letters from a job I applied for. I’m not upset or dismayed, just a little confused. It’s almost absurd to me that this company had rejection button set for Easter Sunday. Maybe in the hallowed halls of corporate America some business philosopher decided that its better these computer generated e-mails hit in-boxes on Sunday. Business conventional wisdom must have found people are busy with other things on Sunday so the rejection won’t come as such a shock.

Honestly, it was kind of refreshing to actually get something other than the automated “thanks for applying” e-mail. Of all the jobs I’ve applied for only about 20% have sent rejections. Only one, the IRS, tells me I’m still in the hunt but I’m the lowest of the low category of applicant according to its alphabet soup system. Another government agency rejected me outright, telling me I was not qualified.

Oh, well.

The wait continues.

During my daily gleen of web news I did find one glimmer of hope. Wheel of Fortune is coming to my hometown. If I’m in the area (and unemployed) you bet your free spin I’ll be applying. There’s always a chance I could see Pat Sajak’s plastic surgery close up. (He’s 63 years old, who knew? Well, the doctor does.)

If I can’t find a job, I can take comfort in the fact that nothing is certain except, death, taxes and Don’s Car Wash is hiring. Sadly, I don’t think the text of that ad has changed in 20 years, if ever.

What phrase should I practice? “I’d like to buy a vowel” or “Would you like Hot Wax today?”