Fun With Bureaucrats

When Ray and I got married, the folks at the Hawaii Dept. of Health told us it would take 120 days to process our marriage certificate. Ray didn’t have a problem with that because he didn’t really need the certificate for anything. However, I soon realized that if I was going to change my name with any kind of alacrity, I’d need that certificate sooner than later, so I coughed up the $10 expedition fee.

When I got the certificate, I changed all the usual things; I called up my credit cards to change them, I waited at the social security office for hours on end, and surprisingly, the DMV took the least amount of time and effort.

The only thing I had left to change was my passport, and since I figured I wasn’t leaving the country any time soon, I decided to mail my passport in, along with documentation of my name change, to the State Department for regular processing (10 weeks).

Of course, a week after I had mailed it all in, I got an offer to go to Italy. Go figure. So now that my passport is in the bowels of the State Department, it’s up to me to dive into its putrid maw and fish it out.

I went on the passport website, which says in no uncertain terms that they are very busy, so don’t bother calling the number they’ve provided, because you won’t get through. The best way to get in touch with them if you have a question, they say, is by email…but don’t be surprised if they don’t respond to your email for two days.

So first I emailed them, and, true to their word, they responded 2 days later, telling me that my best bet is to go in person to a passport agency. But oh, by the way, you can’t just walk in, you have to have an appointment, and they won’t give you an appointment unless you’re traveling within 2 weeks.

Oh yeah, and in order for you to get that appointment, you need to call that number that we’ve been warning you not to call because you won’t get through.

So I called the dreaded phone number, which is answered by a message full of dire warnings not to even bother hoping to speak with anyone, because everyone at the passport office is so overloaded, they can’t be bothered with your problems. After their 5-minute dissertation, they present you with the following options:

  1. Check on the status of your passport (which then refers you to the website, which in turn refers you back to the phone number of doom).
  2. Schedule an appointment; choosing this option takes you to an automated scheduling system. One would think that this would be the easiest option, since it doesn’t involve human interaction at all. However, this system clearly doesn’t have enough phone lines piping into it, since out of the almost 30 times I called, I only got through once. The other 29 times, I got a message saying that the scheduling system was overloaded with calls, and that I should please try again later. Then the automated system hung up on me.
  3. Contact customer service with a question. You mean, like, “How come your automated scheduling system doesn’t have the time of day to talk to me? Is anyone really working there? Why don’t you invest in more phone lines?” As one might expect, I could never get through to a real person. After choosing this option, another message plays, reminding me of how busy they are over there, and to expect long wait times. I hunker down for a long wait time on hold, and the damn system hangs up on me. Again.

I went to gethuman.com, my favorite resource for situations like this, so I could find a way to talk to a real person. I followed the directions, pressed the requisite numbers, and got the exact same customer service message I would have gotten if I had gone the regular route. And it hung up on me again.

Finally, at 11:47 PM, I finally got through to the automated scheduling system. I scheduled my appointment, listened to more warnings that they would not be able to see me unless I was leaving or needed a visa within 2 weeks, and got my confirmation number.

Just to make sure, I visited the web page devoted to the Philadelphia passport agency (there are only 8 of these across the country; thank goodness I didn’t have to travel 1,000 miles to go to one of these places). The web page said to make sure you arrive 15 minutes early for your appointment, and if you are more than 15 minutes late, you would have to go through the whole rigmarole again to get another appointment.

So I arrived not 15 minutes early, but 30 minutes early for my 9:30 appointment this morning. As I got to the building, I noticed that there was a long line of people queuing outside. I was informed that this was the line for passports.

“But I have an appointment,” I protested. Oh no, the security guard told me, they don’t work with the appointment system in Philadelphia. It’s first come, first served, and people usually start lining up at 8:30 in the morning.

So I got in line and just tried to stay thankful that it was a beautiful day to be standing outside. It certainly could have been worse.

Once inside and past the metal detector (which by the way, picked up my wedding ring set…not even airport metal detectors are that sensitive), I was directed to a line where they determined whether or not you needed a passport within 2 weeks. I passed the test (I told them I needed enough time for the Italian work visa to process), and I was given a number.

An hour and a half after I had arrived at the State Building, I left, my mission accomplished. No, I don’t have my passport in hand–not yet, anyway–but it will be express mailed to me, and I should have it in plenty of time.

Of course, once I get my passport, I still have to apply for a visa from the Italian Consulate. I’m sure that will be a barrel of fun.

Feeling Better Now

Okay, so I found out when I got to work yesterday that my boss freaked out on me last week because one of the other women who works at the office decided that she’s going to become a flight attendant and just gave 2 weeks’ notice, and she did it right before I told my boss I was going to Italy for three weeks. So my boss is really happy for me, but she freaked out because she was just shocked. Now I don’t feel nearly as bad as I did on Friday.

Then yesterday I got the rolling kitchen cart I’ve been waiting for, and today my baker’s rack arrived, and things are FINALLY starting to get more organized in our house since our roommates left. There’s something comforting about having things in their proper place, and not on the floor.

So all is well, and I’m off to go assemble my baker’s rack.

(I think that last sentence sounds mildly dirty, but I don’t care.)

Bleagh

I’m feeling kind of icky right now, so I guess I’m going to use this blog as a personal catharsis machine, just like the rest of the world does with their blogs.

So here’s the deal. I recently got an offer from a conductor I worked with last winter to sing at a music festival in Italy this summer. It’s last minute, and it doesn’t pay that well, but they pay for transportation and housing, plus we get a little stipend for food (enough to live modestly). It’s not solo work, but it’s challenging musically, which is what I’ve been really hoping for recently, since I seem to be stuck doing a lot of the same-old choral stuff (which is great…I’m not complaining, but I’m also not challenged enough, I think).

I’m absolutely signed up for the job, so there’s no dilemma as to whether or not to go. I mean, come on, someone is going to pay for me to go to Italy? And sing? This is a chance of a lifetime, and I’m totally psyched to go. I’ve already got my Learn-Italian-Really-Fast CD playing in my car so I can brush up on the two semesters of Italian that I took 14 years ago.

I know I shouldn’t feel bad, I should feel happy and excited, but I all feel right now is bleagh (that’s a technical term, by the way.  It is that icky, vomitous feeling you get when you say the word “bleagh.”). It’s weird.

Now for the psychoanalysis: why am I feeling bleagh? Well, for one thing, I haven’t had a whole lot of time to prepare for this trip. We leave at the end of June for three and a half weeks, and Ray can’t go with me because he’s got to earn the bread and pay the mortgage and make leather stuff so we can go on vacation together another year. That’s probably the hardest thing, since we’re still in our honeymoon phase, I think…our roommates just moved out and we’ve been redecorating and being all lovey-dovey, and I’ll definitely miss him terribly.

But the second reason I feel bleagh is that I just told my transcription boss I’m going to be gone for three and a half weeks, and she was pretty upset. I know she’s probably not upset enough to fire me (and even if she did, that might not be a bad thing in the long run), but the thing that makes me feel bad is that I made her feel bad. How lame is that?

I also took on a whole lot of volunteer stuff with AGMA, and I may not be able to live up to my responsibilities because of this trip, and I feel pretty bad about that too. Not as bad as missing the job, though, since the AGMA stuff is volunteer, but I still feel pretty bad.

My head knows that I should not feel guilty about getting paid to go to Italy and sing. This is, after all, what my real career is about. Ray is totally on board with it and very supportive. Even the folks at AGMA are supportive, because they understand that one must take these jobs to further one’s singing career. So why do I feel guilty about leaving my piddly little day job who can get a temp to replace me? I really don’t know. I think maybe I just need to push through the guilt and remind myself that I’M GOING TO ITALY!

Yeah, that helps.