What it Takes to Get a Passport

posted on march 11, 2004, tag: new york

I stood in line for an hour and a half to get my picture taken and then, after waiting an additional half-hour, I paid $9.50 and received a piece of paper. The lady told me I would receive my New York State ID card in two to three weeks. Confused as to why I didn't get it right away, since they took my picture, had all my information, just had to fucking print it, I was told they handled all processing in Albany. Fine.

Two weeks later I received my ID. I'm not sure where they got the photo they printed on the card, because I don't remember having a black eye and doing what appears to be at least 20 lines of cocaine. None the less, I had a valid photo ID with my signature, and that was the last piece I needed to apply for a passport. I took my birth certificate, social security card, photo ID and self to the US Post Office on Canal Street in Manhattan.

I stood in line for 25 minutes. I was then told by the woman in booth 6 to go to booth 20. I stood in line for 5 minutes. I was told by the man in booth 20 to go to booth 16. I waited for 5 minutes. Finally, the booth opened and the postal clerk asked me for all of my information. He looked at the form and then asked me for my birth certificate and driver's license. I told him I didn't have one, I only had a photo ID, and please ignore the fact that I appear as a zombie in the photo. He told me he couldn't accept it.

Apparently, in the United States, one cannot get a passport without a valid driver's license. If you do not have said license, you have to bring someone with you who will sign, in the presence of a postal clerk, an affidavit stating they have known you for two years. That person must have a valid driver's license and be a citizen.

Confused as to why my photo ID—which has my vital information, photo and signature—was less valid than a driver's license—whose only addition would be the fact that I could parallel park a car on cue and pass a written test—I asked the clerk why there was a difference. He said, "You see, in America, if you have a driver's license, you can drive in every state." I agreed—it's true—but asked what that had to do with anything. "But a New York State photo ID," he continued, "is only valid in New York." I was going to disagree, since I can use my New York ID to buy alcohol in New Jersey, but before I had a chance the clerk said, "With the New York ID you're only a citizen of New York, with a driver's license you're a citizen of the whole United States. Even Alaska."

I was baffled. I countered with an onslaught of short, angry sentences like, "You're telling me I'm a citizen if I have a driver's license?" and "What does Alaska have to do with me getting my damned passport?" The clerk was upset that I was upset, and he told me it was not a big deal—I could bring someone with me who had the proper identification and they could sign for me. I said something about how ridiculous it was that I, a natural born United States citizen, who had never lived outside the country, who had his birth certificate, social security card and photo ID, couldn't get a passport because I wasn't licensed to drive and yet any idiot who could pass a driver's test and forge a birth certificate could. The clerk was noticeably upset and kept saying, "I don't make the rules, it's not me."

So I didn't get my passport. Tomorrow Katia and I have to go to a post office together and she has to sign an affidavit so that I, a natural born citizen of the US, can get a passport. She being a Russian-born woman who is now a naturalized US citizen and has lived in two other countries, who got her US passport years ago by providing her proof-of-citizenship, even though she didn't have a driver's license.

I don't have proof of citizenship. I was born here and I have always been a citizen. There's no proof of that. But apparently the closest thing is being able to steer a Buick.

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