koralleen (koralleen) wrote,
koralleen
koralleen

think of England

Jim left for London years ago and I always thought, "Great! Now I can visit Jim in London!" Did I? Of course not. To visit someone in London you need a passport and to get a passport you need a birth certificate and to get a birth certificate you--I don't know why, exactly, but that's right where I got all bogged down in the process and therefore kept managing to not get to visit Jim in London. Next thing you know, Jim decides to move again. To New Zealand. Like I am ever going to get to New Zealand. Inconsiderate fucker, that Jim.

So now (this is Wednesday) I am just mad enough to, you know, DRIVE all the way down to H Street and North Capitol, FIND somewhere to park, PAY $23, and WAIT for about 10 minutes to get a copy of my birth certificate. Grueling. That evening I had to DRAG myself (and Victoria) to the Moto Photo in Silver Spring, PAY another $11, SIT STILL for a second, and WAIT for two more minutes to get photos.

Thursday morning I STOPPED BY the municipal building two blocks from my house. I WANTED to turn in my passport application, but the first lady I talked to said that they only accepted them from 12-4pm. I was thinking I'd come back at lunch time when she continued: 12-4pm Monday through Wednesday. I stared at her, stricken. How could it suck so bad to be me? This horror, this hell, this three-cylinder hoopty of a life. Then she said, wait--maybe someone would be able to--oh, here she is. Another lady filled in some blanks, watched me sign, and took $157 of my tear-stained dollars. Now I am nine working days away from having my very own passport ...

... and one month away from flying to London to attend Jim's going-away party. Yay!
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