Immigrant
I got a taste today of what the Ellis Island immigrants in the previous couple of centuries must have felt like. I went to apply for my Canadian Social Insurance Number (SIN) — similar to a Social Security number in the US. I got the address of the office, found the building, asked one of the first Francophone people I've encountered where the SIN office was, and received a heavily accented "4th floor" response. I went up to the fourth floor, filled out the little form, handed it to the official, and was told that my name didn't match.
I had noticed this late yesterday, long after I'd left the airport. They have me listed as "Mathew" rather than "Matthew."
I'd asked the people at my office if it made much difference, and they said no, as long as the passport number and that kind of thing matched.
Apparently they were wrong.
Anyway, I had to put my plans of getting my SIN application turned in and opening a bank account today, and instead grabbed the nearest cab and rushed to the airport to get to the immigration office while there was still hope of them being open.
They weren't open, having a sign that said they closed at 4:30, in which the 3 had been carefully altered to form a zero. It was 4:13. Luckily, there was a little phone there for emergencies, and I decided it was time to put on my begging act. With very little begging needed, a woman (also a French-speaker) agreed to get the problem taken care of. Unfortunately, for some reason, they couldn't actually change the name in the name section of the Permit, but were able to add an addendum which indicates that my given name should read "Matthew Robert." I can only pray that this is good enough.
I was tempted to ask if there was any way they could reimburse me for the $30 cab ride out there and back, but decided not to push my luck — these were the same folks I'd seen deporting people the day before, and I didn't really feel gutsy enough to rock the boat.
The whole thing was only justified by getting to try some poutine — with all the hype, I figured I might as well try some sooner than later. Not too bad actually. I was surprised that the cheese is a mild white cheddar cheese rather than a sharp yellow cheddar cheese, so it goes a lot better with the gravy that way. Relatively.
Anyway, after my cab adventure (on which I at least got to see a little more of Vancouver and Richmond, including a handful of bubble tea + gelato shops — interesting combination) I stopped back into the hotel long enough to check my phone messages (a big thank you to the people who've been calling to say "hi") and let the cat out, and then hit the town again to do some looking around, especially since the rain had stopped, and now it was just damp and a little chilly.
Since it was too late in the evening now to do anything official, this was a little bit of play time. I thought about going by Banana Republic and some other clothes shops to buy another work shirt or two, now that I see what the typical work outfit is around here (a bit more drab color choices than in TX, but that's okay with me — if nothing else I was easy to find in my red shirt). I went by the first Banana Republic within walking distance, and was told by the guard looking guy out front that "It's closed, eh? You can't go in." So I headed toward the other one, which, as it turns out, was still open, but it didn't matter because clothes there are fully twice what they are in the US, at least by price tag. $110 for a shirt and $170 for a pair of pants. I decided I'd wait.
I walked around downtown for quite a while, including getting a quick snacky dinner at Falafel Town.
I went down to the SkyTrain station to see if I could pick up a mass transit map (so I can figure out bus routes to more remote places instead of feeling like I have to rely on cabs) and possibly buy a rail pass (for when I start working in the Burnaby office later this week), but they had no maps, and the machines only sell 1 day passes and single fare tickets.
Upon returning home, I was able to do some more bank research (incidentally, as I told some friends today, the quickest way to make a Canadian freeze up, apparently, is to ask for a recommendation on a good bank for a "chequing" account — they never know what to say), and I think I've found my bank of preference. After looking at the HSBC and the RBC and a couple of others, I've finally settled on TD Canada Trust. There's no such thing as free checking, in Canada, pretty much, and more accounts only offer a certain number of free ATM withdrawals, checks, and the like, so it's been a complicated comparison process.
I found a branch not too far from the office which is open until 6pm, so maybe if we don't get out too late tomorrow I can book it over there and get my account setup. Getting paid is a good thing, especially when all my moving expenses continue to rack up to be more than I estimated.
This was not an inexpensive decision, by any means.
I don't know when I'll get to reapply for my SIN, but maybe I can talk them into letting me run over there right after lunch or something. We'll see.
Alright. It's getting late, and I'm going to wind down a bit. While I don't plan to make a habit of it (at $5.50 a can), after a crazy day like this I figure one minibar beer won't kill me. The thought sounds good.
I had noticed this late yesterday, long after I'd left the airport. They have me listed as "Mathew" rather than "Matthew."
I'd asked the people at my office if it made much difference, and they said no, as long as the passport number and that kind of thing matched.
Apparently they were wrong.
Anyway, I had to put my plans of getting my SIN application turned in and opening a bank account today, and instead grabbed the nearest cab and rushed to the airport to get to the immigration office while there was still hope of them being open.
They weren't open, having a sign that said they closed at 4:30, in which the 3 had been carefully altered to form a zero. It was 4:13. Luckily, there was a little phone there for emergencies, and I decided it was time to put on my begging act. With very little begging needed, a woman (also a French-speaker) agreed to get the problem taken care of. Unfortunately, for some reason, they couldn't actually change the name in the name section of the Permit, but were able to add an addendum which indicates that my given name should read "Matthew Robert." I can only pray that this is good enough.
I was tempted to ask if there was any way they could reimburse me for the $30 cab ride out there and back, but decided not to push my luck — these were the same folks I'd seen deporting people the day before, and I didn't really feel gutsy enough to rock the boat.
The whole thing was only justified by getting to try some poutine — with all the hype, I figured I might as well try some sooner than later. Not too bad actually. I was surprised that the cheese is a mild white cheddar cheese rather than a sharp yellow cheddar cheese, so it goes a lot better with the gravy that way. Relatively.
Anyway, after my cab adventure (on which I at least got to see a little more of Vancouver and Richmond, including a handful of bubble tea + gelato shops — interesting combination) I stopped back into the hotel long enough to check my phone messages (a big thank you to the people who've been calling to say "hi") and let the cat out, and then hit the town again to do some looking around, especially since the rain had stopped, and now it was just damp and a little chilly.
Since it was too late in the evening now to do anything official, this was a little bit of play time. I thought about going by Banana Republic and some other clothes shops to buy another work shirt or two, now that I see what the typical work outfit is around here (a bit more drab color choices than in TX, but that's okay with me — if nothing else I was easy to find in my red shirt). I went by the first Banana Republic within walking distance, and was told by the guard looking guy out front that "It's closed, eh? You can't go in." So I headed toward the other one, which, as it turns out, was still open, but it didn't matter because clothes there are fully twice what they are in the US, at least by price tag. $110 for a shirt and $170 for a pair of pants. I decided I'd wait.
I walked around downtown for quite a while, including getting a quick snacky dinner at Falafel Town.
I went down to the SkyTrain station to see if I could pick up a mass transit map (so I can figure out bus routes to more remote places instead of feeling like I have to rely on cabs) and possibly buy a rail pass (for when I start working in the Burnaby office later this week), but they had no maps, and the machines only sell 1 day passes and single fare tickets.
Upon returning home, I was able to do some more bank research (incidentally, as I told some friends today, the quickest way to make a Canadian freeze up, apparently, is to ask for a recommendation on a good bank for a "chequing" account — they never know what to say), and I think I've found my bank of preference. After looking at the HSBC and the RBC and a couple of others, I've finally settled on TD Canada Trust. There's no such thing as free checking, in Canada, pretty much, and more accounts only offer a certain number of free ATM withdrawals, checks, and the like, so it's been a complicated comparison process.
I found a branch not too far from the office which is open until 6pm, so maybe if we don't get out too late tomorrow I can book it over there and get my account setup. Getting paid is a good thing, especially when all my moving expenses continue to rack up to be more than I estimated.
This was not an inexpensive decision, by any means.
I don't know when I'll get to reapply for my SIN, but maybe I can talk them into letting me run over there right after lunch or something. We'll see.
Alright. It's getting late, and I'm going to wind down a bit. While I don't plan to make a habit of it (at $5.50 a can), after a crazy day like this I figure one minibar beer won't kill me. The thought sounds good.