Reviewed: Life

I, too, will soon have a passport to call my own. I will put it carefully in the ancient blue folder/envelope that reads "Important Documents" on the outside my mother gave me with about a dozen notarized copies of my birth certificate. Like the birth certificates, I hope to one day find a use for my passport, but I am certainly glad to finally have one.

I started the day at Walgreen's where a strung out hippie, hands covered in blue ink and gold rings, took my picture. He pulled down a screen at the end of the aisle for me to stand in front of while a lady with a cart waited patiently to pass. Apparently I had my eyes closed in the first one, so he took three more. He never offered to show them to me and I didn't ask to see them. Despite his use of a digital camera and the modules anyone can print a picture from, he informed me it would be thirty minutes until my pictures were ready. Like Cass, I am unable to take a good picture; however, unlike Cass I don't possess a natural beauty. When the Ian from High Fidelity lookalike finally handed over my pictures I saw I was smirking and my eyes were barely open. As a matter of fact, the lady at the post office had to question Gary "The Picture Guy" if my picture was even acceptable.

Speaking of the Post Office, I had to make an appointment to file my application, which they clearly didn't want to make for me. I showed up and was told to go into a small room with a table and chairs. Finally a woman walked in through a secure, locked door on the other side of the room. She sat down and meticulously looked over my documents, crosschecking my application information to my birth certificate and periodically asking me questions like when I was leaving and where I intended to visit. She then scribbled a signature and slid the paper back for me to sign. She told me I could say the oath aloud, but I silently stared at it before scribbling my own name.

10 Stars: $90? I paid $100 for the ten year humiliation that is my passport picture.