When Chuck and I were contemplating our move to Mazatlan, we knew we were going to be working. Let's face it, we're in our low-to-mid 30's. We haven't worked long enough to build up the kind of nest egg necessary to retire. We have an online computer components store, and I have US clients for my web development business, but we knew that if we wanted our house with a view and to go out to eat whenever we wanted and a maid and all the other little things that make life great, we were going to need to generate some additional income.
Our first thought was to open an internet cafe, but our first exploratory trip down here was enough to decide that idea was a non starter. Mazatlan has plenty of well run, well equipped internet cafes, and they don't make that much money. We quickly decided we were going to have to earn a living using our hard-gotten and well-used technical skills. And that meant getting permission to work from the Mexican government.
We did a lot of reading about the requirements to get legal permission to work in Mexico. The biggest obstacle is that you are not allowed to do a job that can be done by a Mexican. We have some very specialized skills, and the paper to back it up, so we were pretty sure we would be okay. We also discovered it is much harder to get permission to work from a consulate in the US than it is to get it from the government once you are already here.
That presented a special problem. Would we really move all our stuff and our lives down here, quit our jobs, and leave our families when it wasn't a sure thing? Well, we're leap of faith kind of people, so the answer was yes.
We got our FM-3 Rentista from the consulate in Dallas. That turned out to be a breeze. Lots of paperwork, dotting of i's and crossing of t's, but nothing about it was difficult. Then, much like the Beverly Hillbillies, we loaded up the truck with our worldly possessions and headed down.
Once we were here, we waited a respectful two months before going to migration to request a change in our status. Unfortunately we waited just long enough for Betty, the very helpful lady at Migracion that speaks great English, to be promoted. The new person, Cristian, didn't know any English beyond hello and thank you. We just got here, and didn't know any Spanish beyond hola and gracias. So our first visit was a wash.
We returned a few weeks later with our friend Juan to translate for us. Unbelievably, that didn't help much. There are some things in the process that are so specialized that they remain a mystery even to a native Spanish speaker.
We started to gather what we could, hoping to just cross each hurdle as we met it. We got the applications filled out, all the copies made, and paid our fee at the bank (about $190USD each). Then we once again enlisted Juan and went back to migracion to turn in what we had and cross our fingers.
Of course, we didn't have what we needed, but we were hoping that by proving ourselves serious, we might get a little more help. We were right. Cristian looked at our documents, including the receipt from the bank, and then explained that we needed an accountant who would put up his credentials in promise that we would get a tax number from hacienda and pay taxes. There were also some other things that the accountant could help us with. Eureka.
Of course, now we had to find an accountant. In a country where we didn't speak the language. And he had to be good. We asked around a lot. Finally, I called Big Al, and got a recommendation for Felipe Padilla. What a stroke of luck. Felipe is a great accountant, very helpful and generous with his time, and he speaks English.
After meeting with Felipe, we felt so much better. We knew we were going to get our working FM-3s. He already had a template letter that he changed to suit our needs. He had done this before. He made copies of his credentials to go with our applications. He explained that we needed to come up with our actual diplomas and certifications, having ID numbers wasn't enough. We went home to gather up what paperwork we needed and made an appointment to meet with him again.
Unfortunately, the elections for the new mayor had just ended and the new administration was taking office. It seems to be a tradition here for the exiting administration to leave absolutely no money for the city to run on and everything in chaos. Kind of a farewell gift. Felipe was one of the accountants chosen by the new administration to come in and straighten out all of the books. So, we waited for a few months for the poor man to have a chance to breathe and get a little sleep.
Once Felipe was back, he called us and said he had everything taken care of except one thing. We had to have our certifications translated by an official, government-approved translator. Felipe recommended one, set up an appointment for us, and then drove us over there. We dropped off the documents, and picked up our translation 2 hours later at a cost of $300MXN each.
We dropped the translations off at migracion and got a date a month later to pick up our FM-3s. Every time you make an application to migracion, you have to give them your FM3. You get your FM3 back when your application is approved or denied. We had given them our FM-3s back when we made the original application. The Mexican government has had our FM-3s for more time than we have.
Finally, a month later, we went and picked them up. We finally had permission to work in Mexico. When we walked in the door, Cristian spotted us and yelled out, "¡Es un milagro!" (it's a miracle.) We did a happy dance on the way back to the car, then checked out our work permission. I was expecting something more substantial, but someone had opened up our FM-3s to an empty page, rolled them into a typewriter, and typed out what we were allowed to do. Then it was stamped and signed by a government official. Only slightly anticlimactic.
Now all we had to do was get permission to pay taxes. Sounds simple, right? What government in the history of the world doesn't want to take your money? Hah. The taxing authority here is called Hacienda. You have to get an appointment in advance – no walk in service. Felipe made an appointment for us, and we met him on the day and time specified and went in to Hacienda armed with the original plus three copies of any document they could possibly want. We waited in the designated area until our number flashed up on the marquis, then Felipe guided us to a cubicle with a bureaucrat.
The bureaucrat rested his chin in one hand, while using the other to slowly page through our documents. He got to the end, heaved a big sigh, and then began to page through the documents again, even more slowly. That is never a good sign. We didn't know what the problem was, but we knew we were not going to leave with what we wanted that day.
The evident problem was the lack of an expiration date on our FM-3s. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying we had the magic, non-expiring FM-3s. All FM-3s have a line that says they expire 365 days from <insert date activated here>. It's assumed that anyone looking at them can do simple math. Except our Hacienda bureaucrat. He insisted that we needed actual expiration dates. We did the only thing we could do. We went back to migracion.
Cristian was very sweet. He patiently explained to us that we already had an expiration date on our FM-3s. It was 365 days from...you get the picture. We told him of our predicament, and he consulted his supervisor. He said that no FM-3 ever had an expiration date. The format had always been the same. We just needed to go back to Hacienda. Okay. Back we go.
In the time we have been gone, the bureaucrat had already spoken to his supervisor and enlisted his support, so our efforts are fruitless. Back to migracion, who is fortified in their stance. Felipe asked for a telephone number of a supervisor, so he has someone to call when we go back to Hacienda. We go back, the phone call is made, supervisors at the respective agencies converse, still no love to be had. We end up back at migracion.
By this time, Cristian has sort of adopted us, and takes pity. He says we need to write an official letter of request and gives us the wording. We go down the street to the helpful women at the tienda, and they type the letter for us in Spanish, have us sign it, and make copies. We turn in the originals, along with our FM-3s, to migracion. Thankfully, we are told 24 hours. We come back the next day and pick up our customized FM-3s with expiration dates. Now all we have to do is make another appointment with Hacienda. Every time you request an appointment, it takes at least two weeks to schedule. So a lot of time has passed for this back and forth.
Our new appointment date finally arrives, and we show up bright eyed and bushy tailed. We get two women for our counselors this time, and they could care less about an expiration date. They process us quickly and efficiently, giving us each an impressive sheaf of papers when we leave. Whew.
We are finally completely legal. Hooray for us. We have had business cards and facturas printed. We have invested in print advertising. Business is good. Life is good. We don't have to interact with the government again...for now.
What we needed to apply for our working FM-3s:
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