Passports, planes and perspiration

Oh passports, sweet passports. Once upon a time I mocked people who lost their passports. How silly, I thought, that they couldn't keep track of the one thing that would let them flee the country on a moment's notice.

So, for the past two years during which I have not traveled internationally even once, I have kept my passport safely tucked away in a small box of valuables in the back of my underwear drawer. At the end of June I packed up my apartment to move back to Michigan. I carefully placed my passport in a special box in my car and, with tears in my eyes, crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge and through the Holland tunnel and made my way out of New York. (Pause in memory of Brooklyn, single tear).

I arrived in Michigan and unpacked my boxes and repacked my boxes and put my passport on a table in my parents' house and thought to myself, "We better put this someplace safe." And then, theoretically, I put it some place safe.

And then I went on the best road trip ever (see facebook for fabulous photos) and made plans to move to LA and be a surfer. And then I returned to Michigan and again, began the process of packing and unpacking. At some point on Wednesday, two days before I flew to New York for orientation, while I was making the painful choice between seven different black dresses, each of which would have had their own unique place in Israel, I thought to myself, "Hey Alice, have you seen your passport recently? The sad, sad answer was no, no I have not.

So I spent two days tearing my parents' house a part searching for my passport, but remaining calm as I had found on the state department website that I could get an emergency passport in two days if needed. Plus, I had bigger and better existential crises that were taking most of my emotional energy (i.e. why did I leave New York, quit my job and move to Israel?), so the passport seemed like small potatoes. Come Friday morning though, less than 10 hours from my flight to New York and with no passport to be found, I returned to the state department website, which, it so turns out, was no the state department website at all (they had an American flag on the top, I made assumptions), but rather, a company that "guarantees" passports in 48 hours for the low cost of $400. So, in a grand moment of overwhelmedness and stress, my parents came into the house to find me sitting on their bedroom floor crying and yelling at my laptop - class act.

When they asked what was wrong I believe the answer came out something like, "I can't go to Israel they hate me and the stupid passports and I just want to help and I want there to be peace and I miss New York and I just want to be a surfer and live on the beach and I can't find my passport but it was such an ugly picture of me from when I had that terrible haircut so maybe it's a good thing but I hope they let me out of this country." Once I was able to translate emotional word vomit into actual sentences, my mom headed straight for the basement, certain I had packed my passport in one of the many, many boxes and my dad suggested we call our senator. My natural instinct, having the tendency to revert to age 13 when I am in a moment of stress and in my childhood home, was to suggest that they were both stupid and the passport was nowhere and that I should drive to Chicago and demand a new passport from the state department. Lucky for everyone, my mom put on her hospice voice, calmed me down, and insisted that we look in the basement while my dad called Senator Stabenow's office.

And now I shall let you in on a little secret. It's called constituent services, and it is amazing. Apparently elected officials like to make their constituents happy by doing little favors for them like getting them new passports. So my dad comes down to the basement with my birth certificate, keys, copy of my old passport (see, I have some brains), social security card and tells me to get my butt to the senator's office. So teary-eyed I arrive in the office of a magical, amazing woman named Gloria whose entire job seems to be to help people when they stumble into her office. Gloria spent approximately half an hour calling places in New York asking them to help me while I told her over and over again how many times I had voted for Senator Stabenow and I was sorry about writing so many letters about Darfur and I'm sure she did her best and of course she couldn't single-handedly end genocide. However, because east coasters are busy people, she couldn't get anyone helpful on the phone. I was feeling hopeless when I mentioned that I was flying out of Detroit and, surprise, Detroit just opened a new passport office! So, Gloria called her buddy in Detroit who said if I could make it to the office by 2 pm, I could get a passport by 3 pm and get to the airport in time for my flight.

So with a lunch packed by my mom (she's the best!) and my dad doing a risk-benefit analysis of speeding vs. being pulled over, we headed to Detroit! The state department, it turns out, is not quite as friendly as Stabenow's office and the unfriendly gentleman assigned to me was seriously unentertained by my need for a new passport within the hour. He decided to spend a good twenty minutes berating me for being entitled enough to think I could get a passport within an hour (although I assured him I was under no delusions that I could get a passport within an hour until a government official told me I could), yelling at me for taking a bad picture, and demanding to know why I wanted to go to Israel anyway and what I was planning to do there. However, after making me cry, sending me to get new pictures, telling me to stop thinking negatively, and insisting that I stay in the passport room and not leave under any circumstances, he emerged with a brand new passport for me! Hurrah!

Because I was in Detroit four hours before my flight, I had the privilege of paying Delta extra money so that I could get on the half empty 5:30 flight instead of the 7:30 flight to New York. As many of you know, when I get near an airport or even thinking about getting on a plane, I start to feel a bit panicked and start popping xanax like normal people pop tic tacs. However I was so exhausted from the great passport adventure, that I nearly forgot about my favorite airplane treat and I made it to New York with one of the lower levels of flying anxiety that I've ever experienced. Perhaps from now on I should always have small crises before I fly!

Anywho, and much more about this later as this post feels rather long already, I made my way to orientation in the beautiful Catskills and engaged in a four day long bonding retreat where I got to know my fellow fellows and remembered that while humidity gets along quite well with my hair, I am perhaps the sweatiest person alive (thanks, Mishkin genes).

Now I am in England, having spend three wonderful days frolicking with two of my favourite friends, acting like an obnoxious tourist, and talking far too loudly about Harry Potter, Hogwarts, and Platform 9 and 3/4 on the streets of London than is perhaps appropriate for a 25 year old!

Tomorrow I hope to not oversleep and make my flight and arrive safely and soundly in Tel Aviv, find my new apartment, and head straight to the beach! More from the holy land soon!