Get (or renew) a passport

GUESS WHO GOT THEIR PASSPORT TODAY

(THAT WOULD BE ME)

And two weeks from Saturday, guess who is getting on a plane to San Francisco? And, more importantly, flying from there to London?

(THAT WOULD ALSO BE ME, ALONG WITH MY BOYFRIEND)

Who is THRILLED?

(ONE GUESS)

[I’m a cheap bastard who copies things from my LiveJournal when it’s more convenient to do so.]

Hokay. So.

Turning in all the passport paperwork (and doing all the other associated stuff) is so much fun. And I am not actually joking.

So I’m going to Europe in February, right? And am thus in need of a passport. T-minus less than seven weeks [six now, almost]. Called up my local “yes we can do that too” post office (I seriously love that place more than I should) (mail fascinates me, to an extent), and the man who answers says “well, you need an appointment,” and I set one up for a couple days later (that being today) [also known as the 29th of Dec.]. Said man also gave me instructions on where to go - there’s a little one-way parking lot in front, and then a big gated area in back - and GUESS WHO GOT TO GO TO THE BACK WITH THE BULK MAILING SIGN? ME. And then I was supposed to go to the gray door and ring the doorbell.

It’s one of those areas where you drive back there, instantly see the “unauthorized vehicles will be towed,” and assume that maybe you AREN’T supposed to be back there, and you wander around and keep expecting to see someone who will either help you out or accost you.

But I found a door.

And then I found another door with a doorbell. And I rang it.

I LOVE being in the secret-side of post offices, I have decided. Big lofty ceilings, all kinds of things stowed everywhere on big tall shelves, and I got to go up to the front counter to do my debit card except for I was BEHIND IT and oh my god I felt so cool and I am such a dork.

A pity that one only gets to do this once a decade.

I had a lovely chat with the woman processing my application, too.

POST OFFICE<3

[It’s funny, you know—I had my first passport when I was an infant; my parents took me to London when I was maybe three months old to meet my namesake. I had my second one when I was ten; I went on a three-week exchange to New Zealand. And I’m getting my third one at twenty, to go “back” to London and to visit Scotland for the first time. Even though this is my first ten-year passport, I’ve still managed to get them almost exactly every ten years since I was born.]