the final quest!

Well, today was the trek to Seattle to secure my passport. I drove up from Portland last night, so I would have to fight traffic this morning. It was quite handy, as I found a reasonably priced hotel just about 4 blocks from the Federal building. It was late, about 10pm when I arrived. Thank goodness the valet was still available!
The room was small and whole place was a tad rundown, except for the gorgeous carpet they had recently put in. Seemed like the old "lipstick on a pig" trick, to be honest. It has been such a long day and I fell right into bed. Now, at that moment I started wondering why hotels put in mattresses that are comparable to a sheet of plywood. Seriously, the floor would have been softer with that new cushy carpet. If it is a matter of longevity for a softer mattress, charge like $5 a night more and then every couple of hundred nights, they could easily afford a nice new comfy mattress! It isn't rocket science.

As you can imagine, I didn't sleep well. Not only was I sleeping on concrete, but I forgot that downtown hotels have downtown noise. At 6:30am I was laying there wide awake listening to the sounds of the street below and wishing I was still asleep. No idea why I can't seem to drag my body out of bed on a work day, yet a morning I can sleep in for a few minutes, I am wired and ready to roll.

I got to the passport office at 9, checked in with Mr. Window One, then given a number and waited for B208 to be called. The whole process went very smooth! Especially when compared to last week. There was a point when Mr. Window 5 had all my documents spread out and said he would "be right back" and then he disappeared for like 10 minutes. I started sweating. But he came back, just like he said and finished up. All I had to do was pay $135 and come back at 3pm to pick it up.

As I did a week ago, I wandered up and did some shopping and then decided to have lunch down at Pike Street again. The lady at the information booth suggested a french place called Maxemilians (sp?). Yum. So I went down and got a table for one overlooking the sound. As I sat down, I noticed the fellows at the next table were obviously french. They were dressed casually, but were speaking french. There was this popular book out a couple of years ago called French Women Don't get Fat. As a side note I bought it and read it. If you eat cabbage soup every 3rd week and never have more than one bite of dessert...or anything fattening for that matter, you too will not get fat....or that is what the book said. Well, the french-er of the two men obviously did not read this book. Also, I learned today, French Men Don't Bathe. The aroma of them wafted over my table, but it took me a few minutes to realize it was them. It wasn't that fresh "I just left the gym" body odor. It wasn't even the "I stayed out too late and slept in my clothes" body odor. It was SOUR-stink body odor! Like "I rolled around with my filthy wet dog".....No, worse than that. It was a "I haven't bathed in over a week and am totally rank" type of body odor. I had to sit sideways, half facing the wall, to avoid it. I had a beautiful dungeness crab and mushroom omlette, which I imagine must have smelled heavenly if the aroma could have reached my nose over the stench of sour-stinky frenchmen. I only ate about half, because who wants to eat an omlette that smells like stinky frenchmen. The large of the frenchman chatted and ate and occasionally smiled at me. No doubt he was thinking, "I hope she doesn't notice that I smell of an old garbage can".

Well, I paid my bill, left the restaurant and started the hike back to the Federal Bldg. If you have been to San Francisco, you are constantly approached by homeless men and women asking for money. At times I have even gotten nervous from their aggressive "asking". In Seattle, it is the canvassers. I was approached to feed hungry children, help with poverty in the US, support doctors-without-borders and at least 3 others that as I drew near to them, pretended I was crying, so they wouldn't talk to me. This was quite easy because my allergies loved Seattle and came out in full force. From the minute I stepped outside in the morning I had to dab my eyes with a tissue every 32 seconds. Then all I had to do is add a quick blow of the nose and instantly looked like I had just put my dog down, or buried my favorite grandmother. The smiling girl in the raincoat and pink hair would see me and immediatley realize could not go another minute without rezipping her coat, or sort through the papers in her plastic binder.

I think I am a compassionate person, but this was nuts. Most downtown blocks had 3 sets of canvassers! You can only mock cry so many times in a block.

Well, I made it back to the Federal Bldg at 2:30 and this time checked in with Ms Window 7 who had my passport waiting for me! Finally!! I am now officially a US Passport holder. Watch out world!

one week prior to departure

On Tuesday, a co-worker and I were discussing how to handle the onslaught of new hires we will soon be faced with. Handling 100 new employees in the time frame of 2 months creates a unique set of problems, as I am sure you can imagine. In the middle of the conversation she looks at me and says, "your passport is expired". As much fun as it would be to think she is psychic, it isn't the case, she is just a very efficient HR manager. I happens she keeps a spreadsheet of all the employees and when their necessary documents expire. After all, we can't have a food handlers card expire and then face a surprise visit from the county or it could cause a problem. I didn't think it could possibly be true, since I secured my passport at the time of my divorce (note to self, have a drink tonight, today is the 4th anniversary of that day!), so this can't be the case! Passports are good for what....ten years....eight years? It has been only four! We ran to the back and pulled my employee file, which in fact held a photocopy of my EXPIRED passport. It was issued for just ONE year! (This now had me feeling ill, since the trip to Cancun was a mere 10 days away.)

A google search, a couple of phone calls and an incredibly helpful daughter later, I have my actual passport in hand. Page 24 had a cryptic code that even the US Passport help desk couldn't fully explain. It seems my "proof of citizenship is in question". I was born in Florida, lived in Washington state for 23 years and Oregon ever since. I have been to BC a few times and Tijuana twice. Now Tijuana is a crazy town, I admit, but I do not remember anything happening that would cost me my citizenship.

I dug out all of my pertinent paperwork, took Tuesday off work and headed to the regional passport office in Seattle. The traffic was light, parking easy and I arrived an hour early for my appointment. They said to go ahead and fill out the required form then check in at window One where I will have my forms reviewed and be assigned a number for my turn at the real window. In my head I am fist pumpin' in joy at how smooth this is all going so far! It takes but a couple of minutes and there I proudly stand in front of window One with my forms in order. No doubt she would tell me how nice and neat they were....and here is your shiny new passport for 10 years.....and have a wonderful trip! Ms. Window One takes my papers, smiles and asks for my new passport photos and itinerary for my upcoming trip. GULP. Really? Why can't they use the photo on my expired passport!? It was only taken FOUR years ago!! Not that I would want them to use it, to be quite frank, the photo looks like someone from the nightly news that was picked up for having 47 cats in her trailer, or for selling crack to an undercover cop. Seriously a bad photo. And itinerary? Do they really think I would take the day off work and drive all the way from Portland to sneakily obtain a passport in 1 week instead of the usual 6?

Soon I was hiking up the hill to the nearby Kinkos for a new passport photo. I called work and my dear co-worker was willing to dig through my desk, find my itinerary and fax it up to me as well. This time I remembered to smile for the passport photographer, no more psycho passport pic! Then back down the hill to the passport office, through the metal detectors, up the proper bank of elevators this time, smile at the guards and check in at window one. Ms. Window One has been replaced by Mr. Window One. He is relatively pleasant, which is saying a lot for him after seeing the family he had to help before me! I didnt' get the whole story, because I don't speak spanish, but I believe it had to do with her dropping him at the border and a van picking him up, then she and they kids will fly down and meet him there....and can he get back into the US with the kids? Hmmmmm. yet MY citizenship is in question! Well, Mr. Window One reviews my forms and gives me a number. The room is completely empty, so I wonder why I have to be given a number that they immediately will put up on the little board, since there are 3 workers at windows and I am the only one waiting. This is the US government, so who am I to argue.

Smiling I now hand my paperwork to window Ms C14. She isn't quite as friendly as the Window One folk, but I am sure I am going to win her over and be sympathetic to my problem here, after all, this is her job! She scanned my paperwork, but failed to compliment me on my neat penmanship. The looks at my expired passport, types a few things into her computer and slowly lifts my birth certificate to the light. This was the way it went: Peer at certificate....glare at me....examine it closer....evil eye at me.....feel embossment.....look at me warily.....turn it over and examine the back.....give me a look that says I am a terrorist just pretending to be a suburbanite from Orenco who is going to Cancun on vacation when really my sinister plans include explosives and the death of many innocent civilians....back to my obvious insufficient document. She passed it back to me and simply states, "your birth certificate isn't valid, we can't give you a passport". She must be joking....haha. Nope. My citenship is in question until I can provide a certified copy of my birth certificate. At this point I wasn't brave enough to look back at the 3 large,armed guards at the door, lest they think I am considering making a dash for it.

While wandering down to Pike Street market for a coffee and pastry to cheer me up, I called my office and my dear co-worker started researching what my next step would be. With coffee, croissant, pen in hand and a napkin to take notes on, I called the state of Florida. May I point out that I learned during that call that the government already knows everything about me for the past 46 years. They really didn't need a new birth certificate, why would they? What more could that piece of paper give them that they didn't already know? They knew every street I had lived on in my entire life, I kid you not. After many questions about places I had lived, names, maiden names, parents bloodtypes, cars I have driven, what kind of wallet I carry and the last time I had my teeth cleaned, the nice lady said my new birth certificate would be overnighted to me. That would be $45.

When I walked in the door after work on Friday, there it was....the official UPS express envelope that held proof that I was who I said I was all these years. I pulled that little tab that rips it open (one of those things in life I really love to do, like using floss-ums in bed or sharpening popsicle sticks on the sidewalk), reached inside and pulled out my brand new proof of citizenship! My mom, my dad and me right there on the paper, vision of the little family we were in June of 1963 in Dade/Miami, FL.

Now I have 6 days until I am scheduled to fly the friendly skies to paradise, but still with no passport. Wednesday I will drive back up to Federal Building on 2nd street in downtown Seattle, with said document in hand. Hopefully I will get Ms. C14 again and she will have to swallow her words as she hands me my passport.