Passport anyone?

There is a rite of passage when you are old enough to have your own checking account. Because I grew up poor, it had extra meaning for me. Add to that the reason I needed one is because I was the first in my branch of the family tree to go to college and you have real cause for a celebration.

At the time I got accepted to graduate school in Chicago, bank regulations were tightening and stores were requiring at least one, if not two, major forms of ID to cash checks. I quickly realized that my Massachusetts license might not qualify to cash out-of-state checks in Illinois. I mentioned this concern to my college pals, many of whom had real worldly experience. Beth Ann (of the New Hampshire Steinberg’s) said “why don’t you get a passport? That’s a major form of ID.” Not to be one-down, I went to find out - from someone else - what I needed to get one.

It was no big deal to get the two passport photos. I simply went to one of the arcade photo booths at Revere Beach. It was more involved, however, to get a notarized birth certificate. After more research, I needed to go to the McCormick building Records Office in downtown Boston.  I remembered I saw a building with that name on one of my shopping trips so merrily caught the train – which in Massachusetts is the same as Metro in DC – toting my precious photos.

I easily found the McCormick building and went directly to the tenant directory. Two security guards ambled over to “help” me. I told them I needed a notarized birth certificate and they said I was at the wrong McCormick building. Go figure.

They gave me directions and as I was leaving, one guard asked me why I needed one. I smugly informed him that I needed it to get a passport. Naturally, he asked me where I was going. Without thinking, I said “Chicago.” They both gawked at me in disbelief. One stuttered “B, b, b, b, but, lady. You don’t need a passport to go to Chicago!”

Of course, I knew I didn’t need a passport to go to Chicago. After all, Illinois is still part of the US. I tried to correct my shortcut answer to no avail. They looked at me like I needed to go into THE home for SPECIAL people. I let it go, hopped back on the train and hurried to the correct McCormick building.

Showing evidence of learningÔ, when the Records clerk asked me why I needed it and where I was going, instead of saying “Chicago” or “I need it for ID,” I angrily said “nowhere. I am not going anywhere!” He looked at me like I needed to take a pill but didn’t press further.

Many years later, at one of my husband’s work-related social gatherings, Ron insisted I tell my “best” story. So, I did and everybody laughed. Then Ron added “I bet those guards are still talking about the lady who thought she needed a passport to get to Chicago.” Okay, it’s one thing for them to think I’m crazy. It’s another if the guards have their get togethers and I am one of the showpieces!