The Passport Story
(a novella)
(a novella)
In order to bring David back to the States, we needed a passport for him. Good thing, too, because he's going to need his very own little visa as well. All of this makes me think that we have a very well-traveled little guy, but then I remember that he's never been more than a few hours outside of Jena :)
Ok so here goes: We went to the Consulate website to figure out what we had to do. It turns out our task was threefold: (1) "Declare" the birth of David (sounds much more fun and exciting than it is; I did not get to make any grand announcements, proclamations, or anything of the sort.) (2) Get David a passport, and (3) Get David a social security number.
The website told us what we needed, including the US requirements for a passport photo. Unfortunately, it stated that machine or photo-booth pictures were unacceptable. We were all set to take David to a fancy photographer when I decided to call first and see if there were any special rules for tiny people.
"No, just the standard regulations" said the nice man at the Consulate, "But why don't you just do it here? We have a photo booth right on the premises. That's what most people use."
Me: "Um, the website says that photo booths may not be used..."
Him: "Oh no, we've had this machine for years! It's what everyone uses."
I decided not to make the obvious suggestion--that somebody think about changing the website--said thank you, and that was that.
So, Michael and I rented a car and set-out for Berlin. I got the address from the website--the Consulate website, mind you...the address that said "for visitors"--and off we went. Mapquest said it would take 2 hours and 17 minutes, and the business hours for passport services run from 9am-12pm, so we set out at 7am thinking we'd be there no later than 10am. Just outside of the city, we hit deadly traffic. The kind of traffic that makes you think about just getting out and walking. Still, we had left plenty of time, so we weren't too worried...until it became clear that this traffic really wasn't moving at all or clearing up.
Fast forward a bit, we finally pull up to the Consulate at about 11:15. We were kind of worried, because they suggested you get there before 11, so I ran in with David while Michael drove off to find parking. At the door, I was stopped by a guard who asked (in German, oddly enough the guards were German) how he could help me. I told him we needed a passport for David, and he said "Alright, but this is not where you get that. People make this mistake all the time. You need to be at the Consulate; this is the Embassy."
"Um, where is the Consulate?" I asked, thinking he'd point the correct building out to me. "Do you have a car? It's about 25 minutes across town." I nearly burst out in tears. "25 minutes? they're only open until 12!" "Yes," he said, "It's probably better to come back on Monday." I explained that we had rented a car and driven all the way from Jena, and he suggested that we go anyway and tell them our story. He figured they'd let us in late. (Very un-German of him, actually, as the general position is that rules are to be followed at all cost.)
He repeated that people make this mistake all the time. Of course they do; the Consulate website's list of addreses is at best extraordinarily confusing and at worst, just plain wrong.
The problem--or one of the problems--was that Michael had driven off with the car, somewhere into the depths of Berlin. I stood there with David for what felt like forever (and was probably 15 minutes), clutching the sticky-note with the address for the Consulate, which the nice guard had written down for me. When Michael got there, visibly confused to see me standing on the corner, I told him the deal and off we went--first to buy a more detailed map of Berlin, and then back to the car.
As I was buckling David into his carseat, Michael said "um, would you come look at this map with me for a second? Guess where we have to go?" He pointed to the lower left corner of the map. "That's where our street is...somewhere in there...under the map of the subway." Yes, they had stuck a subway map on top of the street map, and simply assumed that you wouldn't need the part of the map they covered. Which was, of course, the only part that we did need.
Anyway, off we went in the general direction of the street that we needed. Miraculously (and, in fact, with much prayer!) we found the street and the Consulate. It was now about 12:20. We decided that I should do the talking, while holding the baby, so as to appear as sympathetic (read:pathetic) as possible. It was raining by now too, so that helped a bit.
I explained our story to the guard (again a German without much English!) She discussed it with the other guard, who was an American. I kept hearing him ask "why don't you just call them?" Eventually, she explained that everyone was on their lunch break. They were entitled to an hour for lunch, she said, and that's where they were. If we wanted to, we could come back in an hour and see what they said. She was incredibly nice and helpful, and seemed to feel very bad for us. (So apparently our plan worked :)
Off we went in search of food. We found a McDonald's that actually had self-serve soda. I won't get into it, but those of you who have visited know how incredibly rare ice is, and how incredibly expensive tiny little sodas are. A few icy cold Fantas later and I was feeling much better :)
We went back, and the official folks were apparently late in "returning" from lunch. This really troubled the guard. She was really apologetic and anxious about it, and kept looking out the window for them. After about 15 or 20 minutes, she handed me a phone.
"Hello?" (An American, presumably one of the official folks.) "Hi" I said, in my most apologetic voice. "I don't understand. Why are you so late?" So I again told my story. Then she said "But I don't understand, why didn't somebody just call us when you got here? There is always somebody working here, if they didn't get an answer they should have called back! Did they actually tell you to come back LATER?" "Um...yes...I'm sorry..." [Heavy, condemnation-laden sigh] "Alright. You can come up."
And that was that! Actually, it took a few hours and we were worried that we were not going to get the car back in time, but in the end all was well. The photo booth was particularly amusing...there was a little oval on the screen that David's head had to fill. He had to be facing forward, with both ears visible, and looking at the camera. He is 2 months old. He's a good kid, but not the best at following directions. I tried twice, and then the booth said "This is your last chance." We decided to give Michael a crack at it, and that's what you see below! The best part is, the woman who processed our forms (also a German woman, I think we saw 2 Americans in the Consulate!) said "Hmm...we can't have the father in the photo..." So, she took out a white sticky note, cut a semicircle out of it for David's head, and taped it onto the photo, effectively blocking out Michael's face. This, apparently, is permitted; I was surprised.
For what it's worth: I don't think any of the official folks had left for lunch at all. This struck me as a fairly typical American/German difference. The German guard felt quite strongly that they were entitled to their one-hour lunch break, and that this would entail leaving work and returning precisely one hour later. The Americans, in contrast, were not so committed to this lunch-break principle. The American guard wanted to call during lunch, and it turns out they were working after all. I try to resist endorsing wide-sweeping cultural stereotypes, but this one did seem pretty consistent with our experiences here so far :)
Ok so here goes: We went to the Consulate website to figure out what we had to do. It turns out our task was threefold: (1) "Declare" the birth of David (sounds much more fun and exciting than it is; I did not get to make any grand announcements, proclamations, or anything of the sort.) (2) Get David a passport, and (3) Get David a social security number.
The website told us what we needed, including the US requirements for a passport photo. Unfortunately, it stated that machine or photo-booth pictures were unacceptable. We were all set to take David to a fancy photographer when I decided to call first and see if there were any special rules for tiny people.
"No, just the standard regulations" said the nice man at the Consulate, "But why don't you just do it here? We have a photo booth right on the premises. That's what most people use."
Me: "Um, the website says that photo booths may not be used..."
Him: "Oh no, we've had this machine for years! It's what everyone uses."
I decided not to make the obvious suggestion--that somebody think about changing the website--said thank you, and that was that.
So, Michael and I rented a car and set-out for Berlin. I got the address from the website--the Consulate website, mind you...the address that said "for visitors"--and off we went. Mapquest said it would take 2 hours and 17 minutes, and the business hours for passport services run from 9am-12pm, so we set out at 7am thinking we'd be there no later than 10am. Just outside of the city, we hit deadly traffic. The kind of traffic that makes you think about just getting out and walking. Still, we had left plenty of time, so we weren't too worried...until it became clear that this traffic really wasn't moving at all or clearing up.
Fast forward a bit, we finally pull up to the Consulate at about 11:15. We were kind of worried, because they suggested you get there before 11, so I ran in with David while Michael drove off to find parking. At the door, I was stopped by a guard who asked (in German, oddly enough the guards were German) how he could help me. I told him we needed a passport for David, and he said "Alright, but this is not where you get that. People make this mistake all the time. You need to be at the Consulate; this is the Embassy."
"Um, where is the Consulate?" I asked, thinking he'd point the correct building out to me. "Do you have a car? It's about 25 minutes across town." I nearly burst out in tears. "25 minutes? they're only open until 12!" "Yes," he said, "It's probably better to come back on Monday." I explained that we had rented a car and driven all the way from Jena, and he suggested that we go anyway and tell them our story. He figured they'd let us in late. (Very un-German of him, actually, as the general position is that rules are to be followed at all cost.)
He repeated that people make this mistake all the time. Of course they do; the Consulate website's list of addreses is at best extraordinarily confusing and at worst, just plain wrong.
The problem--or one of the problems--was that Michael had driven off with the car, somewhere into the depths of Berlin. I stood there with David for what felt like forever (and was probably 15 minutes), clutching the sticky-note with the address for the Consulate, which the nice guard had written down for me. When Michael got there, visibly confused to see me standing on the corner, I told him the deal and off we went--first to buy a more detailed map of Berlin, and then back to the car.
As I was buckling David into his carseat, Michael said "um, would you come look at this map with me for a second? Guess where we have to go?" He pointed to the lower left corner of the map. "That's where our street is...somewhere in there...under the map of the subway." Yes, they had stuck a subway map on top of the street map, and simply assumed that you wouldn't need the part of the map they covered. Which was, of course, the only part that we did need.
Anyway, off we went in the general direction of the street that we needed. Miraculously (and, in fact, with much prayer!) we found the street and the Consulate. It was now about 12:20. We decided that I should do the talking, while holding the baby, so as to appear as sympathetic (read:pathetic) as possible. It was raining by now too, so that helped a bit.
I explained our story to the guard (again a German without much English!) She discussed it with the other guard, who was an American. I kept hearing him ask "why don't you just call them?" Eventually, she explained that everyone was on their lunch break. They were entitled to an hour for lunch, she said, and that's where they were. If we wanted to, we could come back in an hour and see what they said. She was incredibly nice and helpful, and seemed to feel very bad for us. (So apparently our plan worked :)
Off we went in search of food. We found a McDonald's that actually had self-serve soda. I won't get into it, but those of you who have visited know how incredibly rare ice is, and how incredibly expensive tiny little sodas are. A few icy cold Fantas later and I was feeling much better :)
We went back, and the official folks were apparently late in "returning" from lunch. This really troubled the guard. She was really apologetic and anxious about it, and kept looking out the window for them. After about 15 or 20 minutes, she handed me a phone.
"Hello?" (An American, presumably one of the official folks.) "Hi" I said, in my most apologetic voice. "I don't understand. Why are you so late?" So I again told my story. Then she said "But I don't understand, why didn't somebody just call us when you got here? There is always somebody working here, if they didn't get an answer they should have called back! Did they actually tell you to come back LATER?" "Um...yes...I'm sorry..." [Heavy, condemnation-laden sigh] "Alright. You can come up."
And that was that! Actually, it took a few hours and we were worried that we were not going to get the car back in time, but in the end all was well. The photo booth was particularly amusing...there was a little oval on the screen that David's head had to fill. He had to be facing forward, with both ears visible, and looking at the camera. He is 2 months old. He's a good kid, but not the best at following directions. I tried twice, and then the booth said "This is your last chance." We decided to give Michael a crack at it, and that's what you see below! The best part is, the woman who processed our forms (also a German woman, I think we saw 2 Americans in the Consulate!) said "Hmm...we can't have the father in the photo..." So, she took out a white sticky note, cut a semicircle out of it for David's head, and taped it onto the photo, effectively blocking out Michael's face. This, apparently, is permitted; I was surprised.
For what it's worth: I don't think any of the official folks had left for lunch at all. This struck me as a fairly typical American/German difference. The German guard felt quite strongly that they were entitled to their one-hour lunch break, and that this would entail leaving work and returning precisely one hour later. The Americans, in contrast, were not so committed to this lunch-break principle. The American guard wanted to call during lunch, and it turns out they were working after all. I try to resist endorsing wide-sweeping cultural stereotypes, but this one did seem pretty consistent with our experiences here so far :)
1 comment:
Wow! Bravo, you did it! I'm very impressed. I completely understand your frustration with the - how should I put it - quirks(?) of the German culture. :) By the way, the passport photos are adorable. We had to get Caleb's taken not long after he was born, and fortunately we could do it on post. But he was asleep and we had to wake him up so his eyes would be open for the picture. He has the saddest passport picture I've ever seen, complete with lower lip sticking out and a frown and red eyes to match!
Post a Comment