Pasaporte

Things to remember when leaving the country:

Clothing

Arrangements made for pets

Hold mail

Camera

Cosmetics

Legal documentation that allows one to actually cross a border

Hmmm. It all seemed so doable until that last bit…

Last week, nearly four weeks to the day from my scheduled departure FROM THE UNITED STATES, I realized that my passport is expired. Yes, expired. Seemed to have lost its validity last year, actually, which means that at any point over the course of these last 12 months I might have considered renewing it. In typical mutinous fashion, My Mind decided to “make things more exciting” by “not thinking” of the passport issue until the final four-week countdown had begun.

Sigh.

Clearly maximizing the wicked possibilities, My Mind chose to bring the topic up around midnight, thereby ensuring a panicked night that left no room for activities such as sleeping. This had the delicious side effect of rendering my looks as unappealing as possible, and also of “clouding” my head. Both of these qualities increased the entertainment factor considerably when I appeared at the post office to fill out my passport renewal forms, and was positioned against a door to have my photo taken. Rest assured, I was far from thrilled. My Mind, however, was having a fabulous time. It chortled and giggled in glee as it eyed up the strange female postal employee who sat – positioned on a stool in the center of the post office box area – and watched me like a hawk. It was THRILLED when I got up to the counter and was greeted by the lone cheerful postal employee in the employ of the USPS.

I have never seen such uncalled for happiness in a government employee. He practically vibrated with delight when he realized that I needed to have forms sent in, and that he needed to take a photo to include in the packet.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby!” he shouted over his shoulder as he cantered toward a door that I could not see. I was a touch confused, as we’d barely conversed, but moved toward the indicated area. He popped out through a door, whirled about, and pulled a white screen down over the door that he had just come through. Waving me over in front of it, he spent some time flipping switches and pushing buttons on a bizarre camera-like contraption. Finally, without warning, he held it up and it made a couple of clicking noises. “Meet you back at the counter!” he sang gleefully, disappearing behind my back as I stood in place, trying to process the experience.

Back at his station, he rattled off question after question, only some of which seemed to pertain to our actual transaction. Eventually, the questions stopped, and he vanished, only to reappear in moments with a couple of photos.

“Ooooh!” he exclaimed, looking them over with an expression of intense appreciation. “Are these for a passport or for Vogue magazine?”

With that, he slid them across the counter toward me, beaming like a proud father. I glanced down and nearly fell over, but struggled to compose myself. I looked absolutely insane. My hair was engaged in a battle of rebellion – apparently each strand for itself – and I wasn’t even looking at the camera.

Before I could comment, he stapled them to the form and slid them into the envelope, sealing it tightly. Just before he dropped the package into the bin, he looked at me seriously for the first time.

“You’re certain,” he asked with a somber tone, “that you signed the forms?”

I nodded, still fixated on the image that had been seared into my brain when he exposed me to the “photo.” It was only after he had smiled, once again happy, and wished me a good day, that My Mind made its move. Perhaps, it suggested, snickering slightly, I had not signed the form? After all, I had been so tired, and perhaps a bit panicked. Things like signatures are SO easy to overlook under those circumstances….