Or Adventures Bordering on Reality (But Only Just)
Every five years, I go to see our family doctor. Not for a check-up or anything, in fact I rarely see that aimiable gentleman except when I sever or squash peripheral bits of myself.
No, I go to the doctor’s to get my passport renewed.
Now, before you wonder how it is that Swiss physicians are invested with foreign consular powers, I’ll explain. Every time I need to renew my passport, I need to find a “guarantor”, basically someone impeccably irreproachable by profession (judge, police officer, medical doctor, mayor, dentist… dentist?) who has known me for at least two years and will certify that I am me. (If I can’t find one of those, then I must obtain a “Declaration in Lieu of Guarantor” at my own expense before a person “authorized by law to administer an oath or solemn affirmation.” Huh?) This seems like an unusual fashion to prove my identity, but surely the family doctor would know, if anyone would, whether I haven’t done away with the REAL John Howe and assumed his identity, putting up a web site and publishing several books in the process just to be more convincing. Even the Swiss, who have an inordinate love of official papers (not to mention an obsession with the unattainable zero risk factor and an infatuation with new technology, which means they can require the population to purchase brand new unfalsifiable passports every couple of years at a healthy fee) don’t ask these kind of amusing questions.
Until a few years ago, there was one officially approved photographer (Canadian passports require you to supersize your photos, so a “photomaton” won’t do) for every large city. Just how this photographer was chosen I do not know (state secret) but it certainly wasn’t for his professional skill. After what seemed like aeons of horrible photos (which generally turned brown and slowly faded away inside three years) I can now go to a photographer of my choice, but since the format is so… unusual, there’s only ever one long-suffering studio in town, where I am invariably asked “It’s not one of those weird passport formats is it? Canadian, eh?” twice a decade. As for the doctor, he’s naturally happy to see me; he never needs to ask where it hurts. My problem is always effortlessly diagnosed and I don’t even need a prescription.
Now, besides all that, there is something new. I must supply one or two pieces of supplementary identification beyond my birth certificate. Identification issued by the Canadian authorities, according to the instruction sheet that accompanies the form. So, in light of this new requirement, I rustled through all my drawers and came up with:
One high school student card (Clearbrook Junior Secondary, grade 9, aged 14, very cute)
One British Columbia driver’s licence (renewed 1983, expired 1988)
One social security card (there’s no date, but the plastic is so ancient it is barely in one piece)
So, pick up the phone and take the bull by the horns is my motto; I call the embassy. Dubious noises on the line, expired documents are not valid, don’t I have any recent documents issued in Canada?
“Well, I have a Starbucks card and an international phone card. I got them both in Vancouver.”
“I’m sorry sir, those are not valid documents.”
“What do you mean not VALID!?!?” I yelped, my voice rising an octave into that effeminate shriek I use when faced with a situation that demands authority and self-control. ” There’s still 25 bucks on the Starbucks card and at least 16 minutes of calling time on the other one!”
Actually, I made up that conversation.
It didn’t go like that at all. I’m never blessed with conversations like that.
It turns out that I only need those documents if my passport has expired for more than a year. And they will even take documents issued by other countries.
(Apparently they “can’t mark everything on the instruction sheet”, which seemed like an odd explanation, as that, to my knowledge, is what instruction sheets are for, but it is a relief not to have to go wrangle a library card in Moose Jaw or Tuktoyaktuk.)
But I am still left with one nagging doubt. How do I know the doctor really is who he says he is?
BOOK HUNTING
I am hunting for the books below. Other than that they are printed in Russian (I think) and appear to be in hardcover format and are definitely NOT authorized editions, I have no more information.
I will of course reimburse the cost of any copies and happily pay postage. (No, I’m not working on a future museum collection, it’s just that I really love getting copies of this kind of thing.)
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Apologies for the mediocre quality of the image, it was the best I could do with what I found.
I am also seeking this edition of the Lord of the Rings. The lettering is bold and quite effective, and any language where “The Lord of the Rings” translates as “Gospodar Prstanov” just HAS to be part of my library!
