In my blog, “Postal Employee Newman”, I relayed the horrors of the post office and the ridiculousness of the passport application process to you. And so you ask, “Did you get your passport?” You ask and so you shall receive your answer.
About three weeks after I submitted the application, I received a form in the mail accompanied by a letter from the State Department, claiming that I needed to prove that I had changed my name when I was sixteen. After recalling the process in my mother’s and my memories, I went to the town clerk of Marlborough and explained my case. Since I had lived in Marlborough at the time of the name change, I assumed that they would have the original form and paperwork. The clerk was able to find the application and the probate court order, made me the necessary copies and stamped the copies with the seal. I put them directly into an envelope and mailed them out to the State Department without delay.
Two weeks after, I received a call from the Passport Agency in Norwalk, Connecticut. As soon as I looked at the caller ID, my stomach sank. I answered and the guy proceeded to tell me that the paperwork I sent in had been altered. I was silent for a few seconds, trying to understand what he meant. He said that the document had been written in either light pen or pencil, and then written over with heavier ink, making it an altered document. He needed to have the original, or a letter from the judge of probate saying that the document was indeed the original. I sat there, dumbfounded, because I knew that the judge that signed the original document died some years ago, and that the original clerk was no longer clerk, and hadn’t been for probably a decade. After I hung up, I just sat there, confused and angry, and pretty much concluding that I was screwed.
I began my quest in getting verification for the original document. I tried calling the District Probate Court, only to be either told no one was there to answer my question, or that I could leave a message. I left numerous messages, and no one called me back. I tried going to the actual office, during their published business hours, only to find that no one was there, and the office was locked up tight.
During all of this bullsh*t, and the growing feeling that I may never be able to obtain my passport, I realized that if I had five thousand dollars in cash, I could get my passport with little to no effort through illegal channels. This is how most terrorists obtain them, so why can’t I? Well, since I don’t have the necessary capital to do this, I was unceremoniously thwarted in my illegal dealings, and realized that I would have to get the damn thing through legal means.
Two days before Christmas, after calling the office again only to find out that they took an extended holiday, a package arrived in the mail. I opened it, and much to my wondering eyes should appear, was a small blue passport, complete with my photo and pertinent vital information. They also had the kindness of sending me back my birth certificate and the copies of the name change application. There was no letter accompanying the passport, so I had no idea what changed their minds about accepting the application the way it was. Someone took pity on me, and realizing that I wasn’t a terrorist and that I was actually born in this country and have lived here all of my life, decided to do a good deed. Or, the guy who had originally taken my case went on vacation and someone else processed my application. In any event, I am now the proud owner of a United States Passport. What a long, strange trip it’s been. From the post office to the town hall to the probate court, from sea to shining frigging sea…
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