Wednesday, March 20, 2002

I am Jack's overwhelming sense of rage.


So I'm at the post office, to apply for a passport. (Did you know that you apply for passports and the post office? Me either.) I go in, and I'm a little surprised at the lack of a line. Good times, I'm thinking. Then after about 5 minutes, one of the workers calls out a number. 62. Doh! No wonder there's no line. So I take a number. 68. Well, it won't take that long.
Another 5 minutes. There's a guy on the far right, and he's wearing a different uniform. Hmm. What the? The guy asks the lady on the right of me if she's here for a passport. She says yes and takes out a bunch of forms. Dag nab it. Then the guy sees me and asks me the same question. Yeah. He gives me the application and says he'll help me after the lady. Why didn't you ask me BEFORE the lady you bum? And why isn't there a sign or something to let people know YOU'RE the one that helps people with passports?
Yet another 5 minutes. My turn. I hand him the application and my Citizenship Certificate. He asks for an ID. I hand him my driver's license. "Hmm. This has your old name on it. You need to get a new ID with your current name. Did you change the name on your social security card?" No. "You need to do that. Until you do both, we can't give you a passport." Then he gives me a card with the address of a social security administration nearby. Thanks. Ahh'll be bach. Pretty nice guy. And helpful.

Alrite, since I was gonna get a new ID anyway, I head to the DMV. Some black lady is arguing with a guy right outside. And everyone is watching. Hmm. I head inside, then look for the little boys' room. Occupied. Shnikies. Alrite let's just get the application and a number. Uh oh, that black lady is here. Right infront of me. Arguing with the worker that gives out numbers. Something about having her license stolen 3 times. Next time it happens again, she's gonna get the FBI on it. She needs to see the CEO. The CEO? Uhm, ok. About 10 minutes of this nonsense goes by. The line behind her (and me) is getting quite big. The worker finally gets her to leave with a number. Alrite, my turn. The worker picks up a phone and calls someone. Hey, what about me? She's obviously talking to a supervisor of some sort. "There's a crazy lady in here. She's black, and has braids. No, she's crazy! Yeah. She's black. Uh huh. And has braids. She was talking about all these weird things, about the FBI and how something's gonna go down. Yeah. So make sure when she comes up to the window that you have security with you."
Uh oh. I'm starting to freak out a little. I envision the lady going up to the window and pulling out a glock from her bag. Crap. What are you thinking? Stop being a paranoid android. It's only a glock. You can take her with your elbow of doom. Err... Me and my imagination.

An hour later...

Finally it's my turn.
"Can I help you?"
Uhm, no. I'm just here to stare at your ugly face.

I hand over the app, she looks it over, then types something on the computer.
"It shows here that you have a 'failure to appear" for a ticket."
What?! What ticket?!
"Speeding."
WHEN?!
" 2000."
I cleared that up last year!
"Oh, did u get an abstract?"
Uh, what?
"An abstract."
Uhm, I think they gave me something yeah.
"Well you need to bring that here to get this off of your record. Until then, I can't give you a license."
This would've been a lot easier IF THEY TOLD ME ABOUT THIS BEFORE I CAME HERE AND WASTED AN HOUR OF MY DULL, YET STILL PRECIOUS, LIFE.

On my way out of the hellhole, the guy I saw earlier that was arguing with that crazy lady hands me a pamphlet. "Hey you have a minute?" Silence. "Did you know that September 11th may be an 'inside' job?" Silence. Keep walking. "You don't have a minute to join our campaign?" Silence. Don't turn around or he's gonna say something else to make you go medieval on his arse.

Needless to say, I didn't go to the social security administration.

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