Once again, we meet in the throws of a transportation dilemma. This incident, however, can not be blamed on the airlines, although the flight may have been delayed last night. I would not know, because I was not there. For at eleven thirty, while my flight to Scandinavian bliss was departing, I was dancing away my angst in a bed of mulch. I will explain.
At this year's annual Tippit Christmas gathering, I was talking with my cousin, Scott, about visiting him in Chicago. He casually offered the alternative of traveling with him around Europe, as he would be working in a Copenhagen lab. Despite the nerdy implications of a Materials Science Ph.D., Scott is quite entertaining, and I pounced on the idea. The past six months, I have been anxiously awaiting gallivanting about the Baltic together, soaking in the fine European culture of beer, music, and skinny jeans. Anticipation heightened when I learned we would be accompanied by four of his grad school buddies in Copenhagen. What is better than one geek, you ask? Five.
As usual, this week has been extremely busy between work, dominating rec league softball, and tennis with the elderly. Despite constant activity, I had efficiently packed all travel necessities by Wednesday night - so efficient I would not need to pay the egregious checked baggage fees. Thursday morning, I readied myself to knot the loose ends at work and arrive two hours prior to my departure time. I checked my glove compartment box, where my ID had been only days earlier, to ensure it was still present. Upon looking, my heart sank. The passport was gone. Of course, I examined every crevice of my car, ransacked my 6 X 6 apartment and overturned my mattress. But I knew.
Why was my passport in the glove compartment box and where did it go? The answer to the first question can be traced to a thought process including, "I will keep it here, that way I will not forget it when I go to the airport." The second question will remain unanswered. It could have happened in one of my frequent sleep walking bouts of overly efficient cleaning or it could have been the hand of God. Maleek* could have eaten it. He has been prone to binge eating as of late, a problem of which the mechanics warned me. I should have paid the $500 they estimated as a precautionary measure.
Regardless the whereabouts of my passport, I am still in Virginia rather than Denmark. The story is not hopeless, though. After a mild emotional breakdown (for which I later apologized to my roommate's dog), I gathered my wits, looked unfortunate circumstances square in the eyes and said "Bring it on." It so happens that if you are willing to pay enough, you can get the government document of your choice.
The rest of my workday was quite hectic. I called various passport expediting locations. I first asked if passport agencies were run similar to the ER, in which case an individual with a severed arm (me) would take precedence. Not so. I then asked if I could present a notarized copy of my passport at the ticket gate. The representative scoffed and reprimanded me for leaving my passport in the car. After numerous fights with automated answering system, I reached a company with humans. This proved to make a difference, as they had no problem scheduling an eight o'clock appointment. Great! I have identification.
Next, I had to change my flight. This process was made more difficult when my phone died mid-conversation with Delta. I repeated the process through the automated system, wondering if they would have sent me to a representative earlier had I claimed I was a participant in the Sky Miles program. Still, Delta customer service impressed me. I was only transferred twice, and while on hold, I managed to add a few negative keywords to my client's account. Again, I relayed my confirmation number, stumbling through the letter U. U as in ummmm... uncle? Not many words start with U. The ladies were quite intent on finding the cheapest rip-off available, and they were gracious enough to waive the cancellation fee, a mere fraction of the total cost.
About the time my flight had been successfully changed, I began to fill out my paperwork, went to CVS to get my photos, and forced myself to eat chocolate covered raisins. These have become my latest office snack room addiction, however after the amount of money just dropped, I had very little appetite.
I had accepted the fact that I was not going to be on a plane. I had but one option - join my coworkers at Biltmore, the Thursday night venue of choice. At this point, all I could do was sip a beverage, take a breath, and laugh. The alternative was crying, and I had definitely reached my tear quota for the day.
I do not know what I would have missed in Copenhagen this evening, but I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation, Virginia summer air, and, as always, a dance session in the bed of plants. The night concluded, and I drove home with enough time for a two hour power nap.
This morning, I rolled out of bed at four o'clock, hopped in my car, reviewed my documents for the fiftieth time, and headed to D.C., my navigational arch nemesis. The drive was relatively simple with only an occasional hiccup in traffic. Constantly reminding myself to breath and pray, I arrived with plenty of time to spare and parked. As I strolled down 17th Street NW**, I knew if a gang decided to rob me, they would be hitting the small-time street crime jackpot. With one swipe of a purse, they would have every document ever asserting my identity, as well as a towel used to wash my face in the Caribou bathroom and a chocolate chip muffin that sounded like a fantastic breakfast last night.
Thankfully, I made it to the IAG office without encountering hoodlums. I even stopped to take a picture of the Washington monument with my 12x zoom camera I bought specifically for my upcoming trip. If nothing else, there will be pictures documenting my pursuit of passport.
It is now twenty six hours since I first realized the passport was missing. I drove three hours. I spent an exorbitant amount of money that if I actually tallied, might make me puke. I raced down a cab, yelling at myself, "How badly do you want this, Anna?!?", as my arms flailed. I made friends with two cab drivers, one who spoke of his time served, another who shared my frustration with terrible drivers. I helped Asian tourists successfully navigate their way to the Natural History Museum. And I handed the IAG client services personnel a manila envelop with seven stamps saying I was Anna and I can travel abroad. I also received a parking ticket.
I have done what I can. The matter is now in the hands of God and the state department. I trust God, and I am surprisingly optimistic regarding the state department. Should all go smoothly, I will be checking in at seven o'clock this evening, Delta flight 2473 en route Kastrup Airport via Charles de Gaul. And I will be avoiding the checked baggage fee. Unfortunate circumstances: 0. Anna: 1.
*Maleek is the name of my vehicle, which has received two compliments in the past two weeks
* D.C. is divided into quadrants. Should you be driving unawares, this will be detrimental to reaching your destination
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