My two months working as an illegal immigrant

Being mixed British and Iranian – it wasn’t the first time people had thought I was from Eastern Europe.

Okay, technically I wasn’t an illegal immigrant. I was born in Blackburn for god’s sake.

But it was only after two months working at an Algerian café down the road from my halls last year that it dawned on me that my boss not only believed that I was, but she had no intention of paying me a penny. And it wasn’t like I could go to the police, having been smuggled into the country and all…

However, being mistaken for a 15-year-old illegal Latvian immigrant, who would endure shoddy working-conditions for a slave wage, was certainly a first. You might be wondering how this wasn’t obvious from day one.

The warning signs

Well, in retrospect WERE a few warning signs…

My “Latvian homies,” apparently – Credit to long.fanger, Flickr

1. I probably should have run for the hills when my telephone “interview” went something like this:

‘Are you Arab?’

‘No,’

‘But your name is foreign.’

‘Yes but-‘

‘Come in and start work tomorrow.’

…you can’t just ask people if they’re Arab (even if they ARE sporting  questionable attire like this)

2. Their reassurance that providing ID would not be necessary also rang a few alarm bells

As for one of these? No one seemed to have seen one before.

3. The staff were obsessed with racial origins, and constantly prodded me with the question of my nationality. It became a game, since I evidently wasn’t Algerian like them, to guess my ‘true’ home county which, despite my objections, they somehow mutually agreed was Latvia.

4.  I had no clue about my hourly wage, nor when or how I would receive it. But if I ever dared to ask, my questions were always dismissed with an ominous ‘we’ll discuss that later.’

5. My boss insisted on calling me by my middle name, which she discovered from my CV was Yasmin, ‘a good Arabic name’ apparently… if you’ve seen ‘Spirited Away,’ you’ll understand why this made me uneasy.

“From now on, you will answer to Sen”
-Now that I think about it, a few parallels can be drawn with this film…

6. Despite the fact I had applied for the ‘barista’ position, they decided making coffee would be ‘too complicated’ for me (not patronising at all…). So my tasks were limited to the dirty jobs no one else wanted.

Not exactly what I signed up for.

7. Several weeks in, I was asked: “So how old are you? Fifteen?”

Evidently, my maturity did not come across. Yes, my arm does read “Roxy the Tattoo Man.”

The Revelation

After nearly two months, I was finally promised my first wage. Since they were rearranging everyone’s shifts, I was told not to come back in until I’d been summoned. Weeks passed without any news – my calls rejected; my texts ignored. It finally hit home that I had been conned.

That moment when you realise you’ve done something stupid.

The End

Luckily, turning up unexpectedly at peak time made shutting me up in front of the customers their top priority. The shock on their faces suggested they believed that fear of deportation (obviously) would prevent me from returning. After being ushered into the store room, my boss reluctantly handed me a wedge of cash, then told me not to come back! Yes, I felt extremely sleazy walking out of there.

So it all worked out in the end (sort of) and at least I can say that my first student job was pretty memorable!