Tuesday 4 August 2009

A Big Step

Today, herself took a Big Step towards intercultural assimilation.

Before everyone goes all hysterical, this does not mean she suffers any loss of affection for her storage container or her Coon-Ass Kitty or her wonderful fambly and friendses. (This is not her Kitty, but it is a dead ringer... for some reason E seems to think it is remarkably like certain persons, too. But he is deluded.)

Of course, she does still have her Loosyanna driver's license (which has the incorrect address, because DMV employees are only hired based upon a complete lack of customer service and high levels of illiteracy -- I don't think I am offending anyone I know by this hyper-generalisation, but hey, it has been known to recur with startling frequency). But today, she finally sat in a little booth with a dodgy curtain with Godknowswhatall bacteria on it (and she kept having to touch it to hold it closed since it was windy -- ewww) and a sad simile of an ice cream parlor stool; she ooched and scooched and lowered the ice cream stool until her head fit in the little oval on the screen and took a picture for her provisional driving license.

One is not allowed to smile. One has 3 chances. The monotonously chipper woman's voice bleats instructions with only 4-second pauses, so there is really no time to gather yourself. There are buttons to push (green to take a photo -- at least she counts down for you; and red to say that you want to take another), curtains are blowing, the woman is telling you to move your head backwards -- through the wall, apparently -- it is just all quite a lot to coordinate, esp. if one is carrying any items at all other than an elegantly engraved cigarette case with lipstick accessory, or a bowler hat.

This glorious image cost £4. Bless.
Scary, Southern, psycho-killer character actress available for glaring and eyebrow arching.


Then, hyperventilating all the way (and for about an hour after), she posted application form, photo (NOT attached to form, where handy photo-sized grey area is delineated with instruction:
'Official use only DO NOT attach your photograph here Simply include it loose in the envelope'. There is apparently no need for punctuation on government forms.), and beloved passport to Swansea.

I am sure it will be fine. They claim that all identity documents will be returned within 10 working days. Which I sincerely hope, since my next voyage dans l'aire begins 4 weeks from today.

However, there is a wierd feeling of intense alien-ness. Obviously, n'est pas La France Occupee c. 1940, where one needed identity papers at all times; but without a passport, one would perhaps (in some unfortunate eventuality) have a hard time proving one's identity. You don't really think about this when you are in your home country, because after all, you generally don't have to go anywhere where government issued photo identification (not issued by local illiterate) is necessary in case of emergency. It is perhaps silly, but it is an interesting awareness.

Fingers crossed that the passport follows DVLA optimism of a 10-day return. Otherwise, I might take an ulcer with me on September trip. This whole thing is, of course, my fault for delaying -- just because someone didn't want to sit in that horrid little curtained hut. But it was simpler than dealing with the Walgreen's girl. She don't let you have 3 tries... mmmm, mm, no ma'am.

2 comments:

erasmus (aka jiva) said...

ah you look like amelie in your photo and it all seems to ring so true with a small passport photo. :)

Virginia said...

I like that picture! You look very mysterious and European.

You're not allowed to smile tho? Is that the law? The Brits would not be amused by my licese if that is, in fact, the case. :D