Introduction to America!

Today, we had our Biometrics appointment with the US Immigration Office/Department of Homeland Security. If you are unfamiliar with the Immigration/DHS office in Oklahoma City, you head towards the OKC airport, and turn right onto a road with warehouses and industrial buildings. Tucked between those, there is a large building with a teeny, tiny cardboard sign, telling you where the Immigration/DHS office is (I thought Americans were supposed to be bold and direct, but the location and sign were rather unassuming). I deposited my cell phone and Zune in the center console (as electronic devices were prohibited) and entered the building. I removed my shoes and walked through the metal detector (sans the fancy antimicrobial mat that the TSA kindly provides....ew) and met with Craig. We ventured down another unassuming hallway to the fingerprinting office. There was a younger Hispanic gentleman and an older Caucasian woman ahead of us. The gentleman handed the receptionist his ID and a letter, confirming his appointment. The receptionist examined the ID cautiously and calmly replied, "Just a second. I've never seen one like this before." She left her desk and entered a back office. Some hushed words were exchanged. The receptionist returned to her desk. Behind her, emerged an angry woman, who approached the gentleman and immediately barked, "Where did you buy this?" while flashing the ID. The gentleman looked astonished and replied sheepishly, "Its the only ID I have." The woman snapped again, "Where did you buy this?" He replied again, quietly, "Its the only ID I have." These questions were repeated two or three more times before the woman rudely asked, "Do you speak English? This is fake. Where did you buy it?" She then commanded the man to follow her and they exited the room. In the meantime, Craig and I checked in, filled out some forms, and then were forced to coat our hands in some slimy, orange-scented goop, labeled "Waterless Ink Cleanser" or something to that effect. We then sat in the hard plastic chairs, and watched Aladdin, which was broadcasted on the waiting room television (which struck me as an odd selection for an immigration office, given that it has been criticized as portraying negative Muslim stereotypes). Just as Jasmine rejects her most recent suitor, the gentleman returned with his attorney, who began yelling at him in the waiting room. The attorney was angry that the gentleman purchased a fake ID while he is in the process of deportation and then had the audacity to show the fake ID at a government office. She threatened that he could be arrested and immediately deported. The attorney left and the angry woman returned. She barked again, "Who sold this to you? Give me his name." The man clearly looks as if he is in a quandary. I'm sure if he refuses to tell, the police will come. If he does provide the name, I'm sure that individual will be unhappy. The gentleman clearly stalls, says, "Umm..." repeatedly and glances at the wall and the ceiling. Anywhere but the angry woman. He eventually disclosed a name and the woman stomped away, clearly unsatisfied. Poor guy. I'm sure he made the foolish mistake of buying the ID so he could work in this great country of ours and then thought it was a good enough fake that he could use it in a government office, only to find that he had been deceived.
Craig and I were then called back to the fingerprinting office, where my hands were cleansed again with a mysterious blue liquid, in an unlabeled squeeze bottle. The woman started my fingerprinting. After my left hand is complete, she asks, "So, you have your Masters?" I am immediately taken aback. We didn't list our education on our immigration forms. Suddenly, I start to think that she typed our names and SSNs into some government supercomputer and obtained all this information about us. I went to grad school. I had skipped school once during my senior year of high school. I rarely order coffee at Starbucks. I had once smuggled a friend's child into the zoo without paying. All of my secrets revealed! I collected myself quickly and asked, "A doctorate, actually. How do you know?" She responded cryptically, "Its a thing I do." I nodded, obviously confused, but afraid to ask more questions. The woman then volunteered, "Its the circles in your fingerprints. Usually people with Master's degrees have swirls like this." I then felt ridiculously paranoid and joked with Craig that I had "smart swirly fingers."
We then left the Immigration office and went into the parking lot. Craig went to work and I readied to head to the office. In the parking lot, there was a man standing in the grass. He was wearing a white polo shirt, plastered with the American flag, front and back. He was doing nothing, just standing there, a vacant, icy stare on his face. I tried to deduce why he was there. Was he an attorney, plastering himself in hopeful patriotism for his clients? Was he an immigrant, hoping that his love of America (in apparel) would help his chances?
I then headed to work. As a ventured down I-40, I approached an overpass. Pacing from one side of the overpass to the other was a man, waving a rather large American flag. I'm not sure of what his purpose was, but he was determined to wave that flag.
As I finished my journey to the office, I began to wonder about my experiences. For people who are dreaming to come to the U.S. For people who may have never truly experienced America or Americans until today. For people that heard, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," what would they think of today?