o/~ There’s a passport here
But it could disappear
Tarmac to landing pad
Don’t look so sad …
(Black Ops, Nanobots, TMBG)
Today I learned that the post code for the United States Embassy in London is SW11 7US. In related news, I’ve finally managed to post off my passport for renewal. The photo is terrible. But not as bad as a few passports ago when I wore a peach-colored scoop neck top and consequently appeared to be completely starkers.
I was 12 when I got my first US passport. My parents and I went to Italy the following year. I still acutely remember standing at the Immigration desk, where the young (very trim, very uniformed) border guard spent enough time examining my passport to make me start worrying whether my current-face looked enough like my photo-face. I had braces at the time, and I couldn’t remember whether my photo showed them, so I flashed him a quick toothy smile just in case. The guard stared at me for longer than was comfortable, presumably recomposing himself after the shock of a 13-year-old’s flirtatious overture. Then he gave me the briefest tight-lipped smile in return, handed me my passport, and waved me through.
My third US passport photo managed to look like a criminal’s mug shot. Which was a damned shame, because, to date, I hadn’t even been cautioned by the police. It was that passport which I managed to leave behind on a flight. I didn’t realize until the next day and, after ripping the house apart to no avail, I rang up the airline only to be told “Oh, we would have sent any found personal documents to our headquarters where, because confidential information, they shred them.”
After some expressive hysteria and insistence on the points of “but you know who a passport belongs to, that’s its whole point” and “isn’t shredding government property illegal”, the customer service agent said she would look into it and call me back. One day later, the airline couriered my passport to me via a cargo flight. I have not misplaced a passport since.
My fourth US passport photo was really good. Great hair, fab choice of top (rainbow tie-dye), I even wore small dangly earrings. Fantastic! Except for the distinct look of deer-caught-in-the-headlights.
When I renewed my British passport three years ago, I threw myself into subversion: bleached my hair, dyed it blue. A bright, vibrant blue. My hair was almost shoulder-length, and it was stunning. I wore my black TMBG Flood t-shirt for the photo. (Not that you can see the logo in the snap, but I know it’s there.) And then I had a huge fight with the UK’s automated online renewal service which, inexplicably, kept rejecting the damned photo. Finally, through sheer force of will, I won. I felt proud and smug. This photo is going to last ten years! I thought. Blue hair! I thought. You can suck it, convention!
When the passport came back, the photo page was in black and white.
So, in this latest US renewal affair, I did not bother to re-dye my hair. And I did not bother to fuss the photographer into taking sixteen frillion shots to find the least-worst one. I did try to make a neutral-but-on-the-verge-of-smiling expression. It came out as this-does-not-pass-for-pastrami-and-I-am-disappointed-you-even-suggested-I-pay-for-it.
Ah, well. Passport photos are supposed to look awful. As Erma Bombeck reminds us, When You Look Like Your Passport Photo, It’s Time To Go Home.