My Day in Philadelphia

I discovered recently that I lost my passport, and that the only way to get one in time was to spend a day at the US Customs House in Philadelphia. In time for what, you ask? In time for my trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. More on my trip to el Mexico-o some other time.

From now on, all plans involving Philadelphia will have to include some time earmarked for getting lost. Once again, I had to wander about until I saw the signs (and they opened up my eyes, I saw the signs) for the Ben Franklin Bridge. By the time I got in line #1, it was about 9:45.

Line #1 was the security line. It was about two dozen people long, and it was flowing like molasses. How hard is it to have your pockets empty before it's your turn to walk through the metal detector? We're going one by one, with a very predictable frequency. You know when your turn is.

This led me to Line #2. For an hour, I stood in a windy serpent of a queue, waited my turn to see what I call the "dispatcher", who asked if we had all the proper materials before giving us numbers. Everybody spoke with the dispatcher, everybody got a sequentially-iterated number, and everybody then waited in Line #3. Line #3 was, thankfully, done in chairs. I read a book.

Truly this was the belly of the bureaucratic beast.

Finally, at 12:30, I got to leave the Passport Office. I would have to return at 2:30 to pick up my new, ultra-expensive passport. Okay.

What followed was indubitably the highlight of my day. After taking a walk, I wound up at the Delaware, making a few phone calls in a quiet little park. I went back to Chestnut street and stumbled across Eulogy, the Belgian Tavern. Their menu had frites, and their beer menu brought a tear to my eye. Alas! Alack! They were closed.

On the verge of dispair, I turned around, only to find that directly across the street was Triumph Brewery. Some of us patronized their New Hope location in November, after a brutal 'cross race. Their food and drink were found to be most worthy back then, and today did not disappoint. I had an inexpensive gourmet pizza and washed it down with a superb Oatmeal Stout (thanks, Jay#1, for the recommendation).

Olivia, Charlie, Mike, Perla, Jay, and Myriad Microbrewed Beers
With an hour left to kill, I got a coffee at a Starbucks a few blocks away, wandered into a Messenger Service office and spoke with their wrench about fixie conversions, and generally just tried to entertain myself.

Line #4 was a repeat of Line #1. The clerk had promised that anyone picking up a passport would be able to bypass the line for the security check, even if not the check itself. The clerk was wrong.

Finally, I said screw Line #5. People who'd been waiting on Lines 1-3 with me were picking up their passports, and were waiting on an unofficial line (Line #5) that had formed arbitrarily. It was shocking how mindlessly they flocked to the line, especially given that all day, people picking up their passports had been called up by name. I watched as one by one, they approached the first open clerk, only to be told "yours isn't ready yet". Silly sheep.

I'm free to move in and out of the country. That's all that matters.