Passe-partout: something that passes everywhere or provides universal passage, OR a simple picture frame.
We had hoped, after our troubles from the middle of our trip in Denver when we discovered Shirley’s passport missing, that we could get things solved in California. The red tape in Arkansas tangled us up in that case and we had to have our marriage certificate sent to New York. We had been able to make the last appointment available on the day before we were to fly back to Belgium. We had no idea if we would be able to get a new passport for Shirley in one day or not, but the adventure had begun and we had to carry on.
As we said goodbye to Scott’s mom, we looked forward to our last day together with Sean and Jill in New York. We had an appointment at the passport agency, but had no idea how long it would take. Pictures of the DMV rose in our minds, especially since they specifically warn those with an appointment to come “at least” 30 minutes prior to the appointment to make sure that you get in on time.
Arriving at the address we saw a line already posted outside the building, snaking its way to the entrance where guards helped the line to enter in an orderly manner. When we approached, they asked if we had an appointment and then waved us in in front of those who were standing in line. We passed through security (remove belt and all metal, place everything in a basket, walk through the metal detector) and went on to the elevator which took us to the 10th floor.
Upstairs we joined a room full of people sitting patiently and a line of people crawling around the room until they came to the windows at the front behind which someone was telling them something. We got in line and crawled. When it was our turn we were given a paper to fill in (even though I had filled this paper in online) and told to return with the paper filled in completey and correctly.
The form said it could only be filled in in black ink. My pen was blue. I didn’t know if I should wait in line again in order to ask if I could use blue or not. I skipped in line and asked quickly at the window and was informed that blue was fine. When we finally returned to the window with our filled-in form, we were given a number for another room and told that it might be a few hours.
We did not want to leave and run the chance of not getting back in, so we found a place to sit and wait. This was easier said than done. Both rooms were filled to the brim, as was the hall and all the available wall space to lean onself against. Thankfully, a younger woman and her mother saw us and squinched together to create space for one to sit. Later, someone was called up, leaving space for me to sit as well.
These rooms were filled with all sorts of people and I longed to know some of the stories. Some were there with their children, others with what must be a new spouse. Some spoke foreign languages to one another. Most simply stared ahead and waited to hear their name called off. The mother and daughter next to us were Spanish-speaking. A later group of ladies spoke Creole and I recognized the bit of French in it. There was an Asian couple with their young son. A young anglo man waited. Perhaps a student or getting a passport for the first time. Everyone had a story.
As the people exited the room to our right, the room we waited to enter when they would call our name, they mostly left with smiles on their faces. They each had a blue piece of paper and most were clutching their new, dark blue passport. Some were met by those who were waiting for them in the hall or adjoining room. Some were simply in a hurry and left quickly with concern and stress grimacing their features. And then we heard Shirley’s name.
This meant that we could now join the line crawling to the front of the second room where people behind glass were talking to those approaching and handing out a blue piece of paper and a passport. As we got closer to the window, a man approached with his daughter. He simply walked up to the window and stated that he had to catch a flight in 90 minutes – could he skip the line? The person behind the window informed him that many people were waiting and also had urgent appointments. Several in the line informed him of the same. Still, he was able to get someone to allow him in front. I wonder if he made his flight. The passport was for his daughter.
We arrived at the window and received the blue paper (it held our important papers, including our marriage certificate) and the passport for Shirley. It was done! We had made it. We understood completely the looks on the faces of all those who had preceded us out of the room. An involuntary smile was the least that would happen, simply because the stress was over. We smiled at those we passed as we went to the elevator and exited the building.
The sun was shining outside, we were joining Sean and Jill for dinner and we were finally, formally at peace with the world of administration and bureaucracy – for now, in this country. We enjoyed the New York City sunset in a picture-perfect evening, thankful for how we had been blessed, not only with the outcome of this adventure, but with the experience of being carried along the whole time.
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