Good Old Fingerprints
The Fingerprint Saga
How many of you have had your fingerprints taken? I’ve done it a few times, usually at the local police department for background checks.
One of the documents we need for our residency in Uruguay is an FBI background check. The first step? Get your fingerprints taken and submitted. Sounds simple, right?
Not even close.
We decided to use a company that handles the whole process: they’ll complete the background check, get it apostilled, and send it back to us. They told us it would take about 4–6 weeks. Okay, we can handle that.
Round One
On 26 August, we went to the Bristol Police Department to have our prints made. We arrived around 1:15 p.m. No one was at the front desk, so Mikey pushed the call button and explained why we were there. Then we waited. And waited.
Officer Edwardo R. assisted us. Without asking many questions, he grabbed the form, ink, and ink blotter. He made Mikey’s prints, then mine. Ten minutes later, we were done. Officer R. was friendly and helpful—a great experience.
When we got home, Mikey uploaded the prints to the company. That evening, he got an email saying the prints were rejected: smudged, unclear edges, and some unreadable. Great. The fingerprint train was already off the tracks.
Round Two
Fast forward to 23 September. We went back to the Bristol Police Department for a redo. We arrived at 1:35 p.m. This time, an officer was at the front desk. Mikey explained what happened last time.
The officer said, “BPD doesn’t do fingerprints for FBI background checks. We stopped doing ink prints five months ago. We don’t even have the equipment.”
Mikey explained that we had them done there just weeks earlier—at the only police station in Bristol. The officer insisted again, then eventually told Mikey to bring the first set of prints back to the station. Honestly, he had a “god complex” from the moment Mikey stepped up to the window. At this point, the train engineer definitely saw the bridge was out.
We drove home, grabbed the prints, and were back in less than 10 minutes. Surprise! That officer was gone. Mikey pushed the call button again, explained why we were there, and was told, “Someone will be out shortly.”
So we waited. And waited. And waited.
At one point, Mikey asked, “How long have we been here?”
“An hour,” I said.
“No way.”
“Okay, 50 minutes.”
“Five-zero?”
“Yep.”
He pushed the button again. The voice said, “How can I help you?” Mikey replied, “We’ve been waiting an hour to get fingerprints done.” The voice answered, “Okay, someone will be right out.” The train is over the edge and heading to the bottom of the cavern. Another 20 minutes passed before Officer Francisco appeared.
Mikey explained the issue. Officer F. shrugged and said, “Doing the prints again might not come out any better.” Then—like magic—he pulled out the forms, ink, and ink blotter. Just like they’d been attached to his hip. He rolled our fingers, pressed them down, and we were done.
The Mystery of the Prints
So, riddle me this: how is it that two officers know how to do ink prints and one insists they only do digital—and not for FBI background checks?
All I know is, if we ever need the police to respond to our house, I really hope it’s Officer R. or Officer F. Partly because they know what they’re doing. And partly because… let’s just say they’re fine. “Bring-your-dad” fine.
Countdown: 20 days until departure
Today is the day World Pet Travel will put in the request for the dogs’ “tickets”
We plan to put the crates together tonight.
