This past weekend we went to a travel agent with Rockr and Junkii and booked all of our internal flights in Africa. We were planning on bringing our passports, just in case, but discovered that morning that neither of us knew where our passports were. This is odd because we always keep them in the same place. Steve later found his, but mine is forever lost. If it is somewhere in our house, then it’s hidden in the rafters or under the floor boards because we searched *everywhere*. Like, looking under the fridge and between books on our bookshelves everywhere.
Does our house even have rafters? I’ll have to ask Steve.
So this morning we made the trek downtown to the passport office with all the appropriate paperwork and documents and requested a rush replacement. I’ll save you the long story of how all that went down – it involves trying to find parking downtown, tracking down a commissioner of oaths (never even knew they existed), missing an appointment, and lots of waiting in lines. All told, it took 3 1/2 hours out of our already packed schedule. *I included the link to the “all told” article because being saying-inept I didn’t know if it was all-totaled, all-tolled, or all-told and I thought the explanation was pretty neat.
I have a very patient husband. He didn’t need to be downtown replacing a lost passport. In fact there are many other things that he needs to be doing before we leave. But I really didn’t want to go through that mess alone. And with his help, it wasn’t so bad. Even the surly passport agent who gave me a little lesson on what I *should* have done (“you should always have your passport in hand before you hit the “ok” button when purchasing travel tickets”) didn’t phase me. The commissioner of oaths was much more pleasant. He was a lefty (like me!). Not that those two things are connected.
So folks, this is a cautionary tale – make sure you know well ahead of time if your passport has sprouted legs and run away from home.