Happy Canada day, thank you Canada for letting me live here

I don’t think I’ve ever told the story of my hilarious attempts to get my first work permit, so I’ll do that now:

One of the biggest differences between Canada and the US is how bureaucracy works. In the US everything is explicit and you fill out X number of forms and pay N dollars and then you’re done.

In Canada, a lot of the time it comes down to what one person thinks at the moment!

When I decided to move here, I knew I would need a work permit. We hired an immigration lawyer, had her write a 100+ page document with basically my entire life and professional history as part of the application.

When you apply for a work permit, you do so at the Canadian border. I drove up to Maine, where I usually crossed when visiting my then-girlfriend, and handed my giant packet of paperwork over to the border agent.

So here’s what I mean by “it comes down to one person.” When you ask for a work permit, it’s literally decided by whatever CBP officer you happen to get at the border. It’s entirely up to them.

She took one look at my packet and said “oh, I don’t want to read all THAT.”

Then she took a second glance at me and said “wait, aren’t you that internet cartoonist?”

I had dealt with this officer when visiting on a few other occasions! She remembered me describing what I did for a living! I’m saved!

"You said you make all your money on the internet, right?" She asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Well," she said. "You don't need a work permit for THAT. Come on in!"

"A-are you sure?" I asked. "I can like, live here? And pay taxes and get healthcare and stuff?"

"Sure," she said. "It will probably be fine."

PROBABLY???????????????

At this point I called my immigration lawyer and described the situation. Her response was something like "WHAT. NO. THAT'S- THAT'S NOT HOW THIS WORKS. NO. WHAT. CAN I TALK TO THE OFFICER PLEASE."

My lawyer spends several minutes on the phone with the CBP officer, trying to convince her that I need an actual work permit.

The officer refuses to budge. She's convinced she's doing me a huge favour and somewhat resents being told how to do her job by some lawyer.

Finally my lawyer is like "okay. Fine. I give up. Come see me when you get to Halifax and we'll figure this out."

The officer beams at me. "Welcome to Canada!"

A few days later, I'm in my lawyer's office. She cannot BELIEVE that just happened.

"So...how do I get an actual work permit then?" I ask her.

My lawyer sighs deeply.

"I guess...I guess you just go to a different border crossing, where you'll get a different officer."

So. On the next visit, I take a different route and stop at a smaller border crossing in a different town in Maine.

I present my big permit application packet to the CBP officer.

She takes a look at it and says "oh, I don't want to read all THAT."

She idly flips through the first couple pages, and notices that my professional designation is "graphic designer." (there was no better category to describe my job)

"Ohhhh," she says. "Okay."

"Okay?" I ask.

"How long a work permit would you like?" She asks me brightly.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh as long as I can get?" I reply.

She goes through a couple forms on her computer.

"I'm sorry," she says. "The most I can give you is two years."

"THAT'S FINE, COOL, GREAT," I say.

"Okay then!" She says, and starts filling out the paperwork.

At this point, the adrenaline is pooling in my shoes and making my socks damp.

As she's typing, she glances back over at my giant application packet.

"Ohhh," she says. "Did you get a LAWYER to write all that up for you?"

"Yes," I say.

"WELL you didn't need to do THAT," she laughs. "What a waste of money! You should've just come to me!"

My head explodes.

And THAT is the story of how I got my work permit.

I would like to say thank you to both CBP officers, who were each acting with the best of intentions.

PS: none of this has been even slightly embellished or exaggerated.

except the head exploding part, that was metaphorical