The Passport Catastrophe Travels to Chicago

My flight left at 6.30 a.m. I'm not a morning person under the best of circumstances, but having to be on the road so early to follow up on my self-imposed humiliation amplified the agitation about tenfold.

I arrived in Chicago by 7.30 and had so much time before my 11.00 appointment that I decided to take the train instead of a taxi. I arrived at 8.30 and found -- surprise! -- hundreds of people waiting for passports. So much for a leisurely breakfast and newspaper before my appointment: I got in line.

I won't belabor the story. I won't tell about the hour and a half to get through security, unsure whether I was in the right line or even the right building and unable to ask anyone because when I left the line I was shooed back by security guards. I won't describe the senior citizens, families with small children, and parents with infants standing for hours because we were warned not to block the lobby sitting on the floor. I won't relate the story of the lady who was kicked out after three hours for using her cell phone. I won't talk about all the appointments that came and went without acknowledgement. I won't recount how after nearly four hours the line came to a standstill when most of the staff went to lunch. I won't speak of the guard who told me I could eat half a bagel but not sit on the floor while I ate it. I won't mention the EIGHT HOURS I stood in line because what would be the point?

All day I muttered that while I deserved to be punished for carelessness, I didn't deserve to be beaten up and left for dead. By noon my hands were shaking and I was having a tough time stringing together coherent sentences.

On the other hand, I will take note of the people who shared snacks or held your place while you got a drink or went to the bathroom. I will remember the small amount of amusement we felt when a reporter and cameraman showed up outside the building to commemorate our day in Purgatory. I will mention the appreciative chuckles greeting my observation that we seemed to be reliving the waiting room scene from Beetlejuice.

All in all it wasn't such a bad day. Okay -- who am I kidding? It was one of the most fatiguing, preposterous, humiliating, stressful and annoying days of my life. By the end of the day I flew home with a shiny new passport and, admittedly, a unique story to entertain family and friends.


Visit my web site, FeeFiFoto.com, for personalized photo gifts. We will put your photos on almost anything. Look for personalized photo mugs, personalized photo calendars, personalized photo handbags, personalized photo puzzles, personalized photo playing cards and personalized photo jewelry.

The Passport Catastrophe Continues

After hyperventilating briefly I switched into crisis mode. Luckily, when you come from a family where everyone wants to be boss and nobody settles for peon ranking, your DNA contains a recipe for expedited disaster management, with amplified recriminations for dessert.

I researched emergency passport renewal online and began calling the State Department's toll free line. Strangely, the recording complained about the high volume of calls, ordered me to call back later, and hung up.

About seven times. Thank goodness for automatic redial.

I finally made contact with a recording instructing me to wait, wait, wait, wait, promising someone would be along sooner or later. During my forty-five minute telephonic endurance test (lucky me -- my cordless headphone lets me wander freely while on hold) I snatched luggage and clothes and flung one inside the other in case I managed to secure a fresh passport in time for our trip.

Meanwhile I hurtled from web page to web page, debating the merits of using one of those passport expediting companies versus flying to Chicago for the day. When I ultimately discovered that the private companies weren't open on the weekends so I'd lose an entire day before I could even get in touch with them, I abandoned them and focused exclusively on traveling to the Federal Building in Chicago and handling it myself. So, while on my second forty-five minute telephone marathon to confirm exactly what documents I'd need to bring, I arranged quickie reservations on Southwest for the next day (I love Southwest Airlines: they're respectful, helpful and easy to work with. Every time I fly Southwest I wonder why I don't fly Southwest every time).

Then I sat and twitched the rest of the day and most of the night, anticipating the continuation of my unfortunate adventure.

Visit my web site, FeeFiFoto.com, for personalized photo gifts. We will put your photos on almost anything. Look for personalized photo mugs, calendars and jewelry.

My Daughter is Such a Girl, Chapter Deux

I'd promised Cleo I'd take her to the American Girl Store in Chicago and buy her one of the real dolls, not the miniatures, for her birthday. Even though her birthday came and went in January we never managed the trip because we got snowed in, and then we couldn't find an agreeable date with the friends who were planning on going with us. Then last week, while we were in San Diego for spring break, we drove to LA to sightsee for a couple days. As I was planning our visit it dawned on me that: THERE'S AN AMERICAN GIRL STORE IN LOS ANGELES!! Yay!! I could get our visit out of the way and stop feeling guilty that my precious, oppressed child would not be deprived of her seventh birthday present one moment longer. So while Robey did guy stuff with a friend we'd met for lunch (they cruised the Apple store), Cleo and I made our pilgrimage to AG, pondering the most important decision she'll have to make until it's time to select a college, and then anxiously supervising her new doll's new hairstyle. When Nicky, the Doll of the Year, was ready to go we visited the ladies' room, where each stall sports a custom-made doll rack so you don't have to part with your doll for a moment, even while using the potty, and then we carefully cradled the doll for the rest of the day, except when we locked her in the trunk so nobody would break into the car and steal her.

A few days later as we packed to return home, Cleo inquired approximately every seven minutes of anyone who'd listen how Nicky would travel, whether it was time to pack Nicky, where Nicky would be stored, how to zip Nicky into the tote, how many tee shirts ought to be stuffed in with Nicky so she wouldn't be bumped or bruised, and whether Nicky should be buckled in with her on the plane. Before packing Nicky Cleo adorned her with a shower cap from the hotel, so Nicky's coif, which was already showing significant signs of wear, would remain orderly.

And that's how Nicky remains today -- sleeping in a doll bed beside Cleo's bed, wearing a plastic shower cap that reminds me of the hairnets my grandmother used to make us wear when we grated apples for Passover charoses even though she probably should have been more concerned with the bits of skin and finger we regularly scraped off into the bowl.

Visit my web site, FeeFiFoto.com, for personalized photo gifts. We will put your photos on almost anything. Create personalized photo mugs, steins, calendars, cookie tins, clocks and lots more.