bureaucraps

A french kiss for whoever can answer this riddle:

What is something that never smiles but always stares; something that flies but doesn't have wings; something almost everyone owns but is impossible to get?

...

Answers? Anyone? Tongue's waiting...

Give up?

It's a passport. A bloody fricken' passport.

Detect my disdain? Good. See, this morning my mom phoned to say that since we're going to Hawaii in February, we should renew our passports ASAP (they expire in March, and the goverment warns against travelling with id that expires within six months of vacation or something). So after only a mild dose of complaining, I grabbed my passport and darted straight down to Wal-Mart to get my picture retaken.

Now I don't know about the rest of the world, but a passport isn't something I'm necessarily concerned about every day. Sure it's a life-line when travelling, but otherwise it never really crosses my mind -- until I started thinking about the expiry date, that is. So although I still had four months left, all of a sudden it seemed like those sixteen weeks wasn't very long at all. My brain, bored in traffic, started conjuring up worst case scenarios, mostly revolving around being late and subsequently missing out on Hawaii.

Cut to Wal-Mart. Fortunately this process was painless -- I'm out with my photo pack in ten minutes. Unfortunately, it was unjustly windy outside (my hair was a wreck), I hadn't shaved, and my clothes thought it funny to bunch up in awkward places. Translation: my pics could pass for Amy Winehouse. I contemplated requesting a re-shoot, but the visions were getting worse; if I didn't hurry up and renew, not only would I miss Hawaii, but I would be damned to stay stuck in Saskatoon for the rest of eternity! AaaAAhhh!

So I threw my cash at the photographer and sprinted out with passport and pictures clutched in my knuckles. Irrationality was taking over -- I swear I heard a greeter shout: "welcome to Wal-Mart, may I see your passport?"

Next up was the government building. These places terrify me... I always feel extremely out of place and unwelcome. Or like I'm doing something illegal. And not to criticize the system or anything, but, well, why the hell do they need policemen stationed at every door? True, they're the oldies who probably catch more gum disease than criminals, but really? And maybe I wouldn't make fun of these old people if they were a tad nicer, but come on. They're grumpy. I mean, ever wonder why majority of adults are angry and frustrated but most grandparents are endlessly nice and sweet and kind? It's because you just don't see the angry old grumps as much -- they're busy trolling these tall brick government buildings.

Anyway, I took the elevator up to the passport office and waited in line. When it got to my turn, Officer Agnid asked what my business was. "Renewing my passport," I replied. Well the rest is a whirlwind of bureaucratic bullshit. I'm first told to fill out a specific form for easy renewal, but then find out that I can't because my previous passport was issued when I was under 16. Therefore, I have to essentially start from scratch because they need all original id, guarantor's signatures, government issued id, $100, a vial of blood, and my first born child.

And you know what I said back to that load of bureaucrap?

Ok.

Honestly, besides blog-venting there's nothing I can do to ease the passport pain. Guess I'll just have to fill everything out properly, bide my time, and do the whole thing over again six years down the road. Getting angry or staying grumpy doesn't solve anything. It just guarantees you a job with the government.