Let's linger for a moment on Passport Canada.

They need a writer on their staff who's had to go through their damn hoops for the first time by themselves. That's the only way their instructions will accurately communicate everything they need from us, the people. Let me tell you about it.

Last October, my grandmother bought me and my girlfriend round-trip tickets from Edmonton to Las Vegas with her Airmiles. In December, I discovered that passports would be required for air-travel to the States by the time we were to leave: February 17th.

You now have all the background info you need. On with our story.

I sent off the application by mail in December, under the impression it would take them about a month or so to get it back to me. I know, foolish me. Then I started hearing about long lines outside the passport office, so I didn't want to rush over there to make sure of anything, I was willing to let them have a little time. If I didn't see anything on my VISA statement by February, it was time to go in and hope the lines weren't too long.

Fast forward to February 2, when I had booked a day off work to go in because there was no activity to suggest that it was being processed. Then back up to February 1, when I realized that my birth certificate was in the mail in my original application. I visited a registry at lunchtime to order a new one. They told me it would reach me in three to five working days. I asked if we could do it in three to five working hours. Surprisingly, they said yes, if I picked it up at the Brownlee building downtown myself, before 4:30, the exact end of my work day. Fortunately for me, my dad works downtown, so I called him up to ask if he could pick it up. Also fortunately, he knows a bit about these sorts of affairs, and he told me he wouldn't be permitted to pick up something I ordered, even if it is the birth certificate of his own son, without a signed permission slip from me. I faxed it, he went over there, and someone told him he was mis-informed, as nobody at the Brownlee building deals directly with the public.

When I got home that day, I also realized that I would have to get my guarantor to jump through the same hoops again, too. I only got ahold of him because his whole family knows me, and his youngest daughter, who on the phone I mistook for her mother, gave me his work number and extention. We made the arrangements to meet the next morning. I had most of my stuff basically ready for him, I just had to fill some stuff out... again, of course.

It was a simple plan. Meet him at 8am, drive over to Vital Statistics, look under every rock until I found my birth certificate, and go to Canada Place to stand in the unreasonable line around to the Passport office. My girlfriend told me that between her classes at the University of Alberta, she'd come meet me in line, and get me some lunch. I just had to wake up, print off the paperwork, and go.

I woke up in plenty of time. 6:30am. That was about the only thing that went right that day.

First, my computer was stubbornly convinced that it should continue to print something from the night before, that had been cancelled. I tried every computer trick I know, from ctrl-alt-del to restarting the damn thing, but it stayed in the printmenu, as trying to both print and cancel. You've been there. You have to have been there. Printers are not made to cancel jobs that they're currently printing. I wish they were, but nobody thought that far ahead. Eventually, I managed to convince the printer it wasn't confused. That's when it continued to print the old file. When I took its paper away, it looked up at me with this coy little expression, and said, "Hey, I'm outta paper. You want me to stop, or do you still want this?" Stupid printer. I left my home at 8:30am.

Got to his office at 9am. He went through my stuff and asked me where my other picture was. I had the remaining 1 of 2 pictures that they had given me for the mailed-in application. Nobody told me I had to send both. So off I go to Southgate, which was near enough to where I was that it could be considered convenient. When I got there, Black's Photography wasn't open yet. So I went to my car to get a book to read while I waited. It was supposed to be my Passport-office-line book. At about 9:30, they opened. Then they told me their machine was broken, and it might be working again in an hour or so.

So after I drove to West Edmonton Mall, a half-hour away, I came back with new passport photos. Didn't take too long too fill out the information, but only because I have my best friend's home phone number in my cell phone. This sounds like a given, but no one uses his land line. And he moved in with his girlfriend. And her home phone wasn't in her name, but her father's. And her last name has, like, twenty entries in the phone book. So I cross-referenced. That was the easy part. Then I had to give a list of every home, job, and school I'd been in within the last two years. On the official forms, they give two entries for previous homes, and three for jobs and schools. In the last two years, I've had three previous homes, three jobs, and two schools. I had to have phone numbers and mailing addresses for each. Using a computer, this enclosed page took me a half-hour to put together. I printed an extra copy, in case I'd need it again.

So two malls, a half-hour page, and all the driving later, I was approaching downtown when I realized I didn't know where the Brownlee building was. No problem, I just called them up and asked directions. Should have asked where to park, because the little driveway I pulled into had so little room, my compact car couldn't even turn around. Somehow, vehicles twice its size were using this pathetic little thing as a parking lot. I went inside and got my birth certificate without a problem--somebody must have lied to my father, which I can tell you from experience, he doesn't appreciate. Then I actually had to reverse my car out of its predicament, onto a busy downtown street. Imagine how comfortable I felt.

Then I had only to go to Canada Place and wait. It would have been a lot easier if the downtown streets would let me turn left more often, but since the intersection in question was right in front of the police station, I figured I'd best obey the signs. Canada Place is a very recognizable building downtown, and it's quite red. I went down into an underground parking garage pretty close to the building, and whose entrance was the same color. The ramp down into the parkade had quite the sharp turn right after the entrance. When I parked, I saw a sign that said, "Elevator to Library". I don't remember there being a library in Canada Place. I took the elevator up, and came out into a small stone building about the size of your average bedroom. There were no books to be seen. I went outside to try to get my bearings, and saw Canada Place three blocks away. *sigh*

When I got inside Canada Place, my girlfriend was already there. When she hadn't found me, she just got in line for me. When I got there, she left me in line and got me some lunch. Then she waited with me for another half-hour, at which point we had travelled a third of the distance. It looked promising for me. Then a security officer handed slips of paper to everyone in line saying that if we were to travel within 25 days of applying for the passport, we had to provide proof of travel, in the form of an official flight itinerary. Guess what I didn't have on me. They provided a fax number, for just such a problem.

Air Canada could not provide me with my information because I hadn't made the reservation. Neither could the airport or aeroplan. And I couldn't reach my grandparents, because they were somewhere on the road in the states. So I had to leave my place in line to go home and get the stuff. My girlfriend had an exam to write, so she couldn't stay. The people around me in line told me that if I got back and they were still out there, they'd keep my place in line. So when I got to my car, I found out the garage attendant only takes cash. See if you can guess what else I didn't have on me.

Eventually, I got back to Canada Place in time to see one of those nice people leaving the passport office. I got into the actual passport office at about 2:30. That's where they gave me a number. A is for normal. B is for slightly more urgent, and so on. I had a D number. D83, to be precise. They were at D68. After two hours of reading my book quite contently, waiting for my number, a man stood up and announced that it was 4:30 and they wouldn't be accepting any more applications. They were at D81.

Monday, February 5, I got pulled over on my way to Canada place for driving on the snow that was completely obscuring a bus lane. Then at the passport office, they gave me a number again. D13. They were at D1. Two hours later, my application was processed.

The next day, I figured I'd check my travel documents--see "proof of travel." They gave me back my driver's license and my birth certificate, but guess what Passport Canada keeps. Yeah, that was the only piece of paper I had with my booking reference on it. That was, quite literally, my ticket onto that plane. I tried two things: I contacted Passport Canada, who in turn called me back on the 12th to see which individual passport office I wanted to have contact me. On the 16th, the Edmonton passport office called me to tell me that they only kept it for the application process, but they didn't return it. They had shredded it.

Fortunately, I'm not stupid enough to believe that these things work out well, so I had called my grandmother on the weekend before, to explain it to her answering service. She called on Tuesday the 13th to tell me that she'd had a second copy produced. I picked it up on the 14th, making Passport Canada's admission of guilt useless to me, when I got it on the 16th, with an apology. Then I picked up my passport without any trouble.

I had only to board an airplane the next day. Have I mentioned that I'm not fond of flying?

Yeah, that's where I've been.