|The Blog|| |
|"When The TV Yells At Me"|
posted February 3, 2007 @2:22a
The lady behind the passport counter at the post office said I hadn't filled out the form completely. "You have to put in your parents' information on there," she told me.
I fought it a little, "are you sure I gotta fill out all that junk?" She confirmed.
Okay. So I skimmed over the parents' section of the form. First names, middle names, last names - those are all easy. Birthplaces - not difficult either... So far, so good... Uh oh. Trouble.
I'm pretty good at remembering dates and numbers, so I knew my dad's date of birth. But... my mom has never told any of us kids what her birth date is. Yeah. That's right, I have no idea how old my mom is.
I asked the lady once again if all that information was needed. It was.
So I called my mom to see what I could find out. Here's what my end of the phone conversation sounded like:
"Mom? Hey I'm at the passport office, and they want information on you and Dad."
"I don't know, it doesn't make sense. You'd think it'd just be for kids or something."
"Yeah, it's dumb."
"Well, I wanna make sure I know all this stuff..."
"Street address.... got that... birthplaces... got those... Dad's birthday... okay... Now it's asking for your birthday."
"I can ask her to write it down on the form for me."
"The passport lady."
"Okay, hold on."
The lady at the counter, along with everyone who was waiting in line, had been listening to my phone call. So I asked the lady behind the counter, "can you talk to my mom? I've never known her birthdate, and she'd rather give it to you."
Once everyone's laughter began to quiet, she took the phone from me. Here's what I heard from the passport lady, speaking to my mom on the other end of the phone:
"Okay, I'll walk all the way to the other side of the office to write it down. He won't be able to see."
"No, I won't let him."
[She walks far away from me, and the conversation becomes inaudible. She writes something on a piece of paper, then folds it about six times. She walks back to the counter where I'm standing.]
"Okay, I've got it and he can't see it."
"No, I won't chew it up and swallow it, but I'll throw it away after he leaves and he'll never see it."
"Okay, here he is."
I finished up the call with Mom, then finished my passport paperwork. It all worked out.
When I drove out of the post office parking lot, I accidentally exited through the entrance and had to squeeze past another vehicle attempting to enter from the street. As I stared at the driver of the other vehicle, I thought about how much she looked like a muted television yelling at me, about how I had almost passed away earlier that day from a freak golf-cart accident, and how much havoc I seem to wreak everywhere I go with absolutely no effort.
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