So, you may remember my rant from last summer's adventure in obtaining a passport. Today marked the beginning of round two. It is time to get passports for all three Crazies. I've learned what to do, and more importantly, what not to do. It should be easy.
I've learned that customer service is a relative term. Ryan had all the markings of a customer service representative, in other words, he donned the blue vest and name tag that boasted "Photo Expert". However, that is where the customer service resemblance came to a screeching halt. First off, he broke my personal rule of multiple face piercings including, but not limited to, his cheeks and forehead. Whatevs... it's his face. I'm only mentioning this, because couple an intimidating face AND not being "a people person", he came across as being the stranger in all of my stranger danger monologues to my children. Hence... the little girls were terrified. Mylie quickly launched herself into the ugly cry and stiff legged me. After I gave a very quiet and powerful "YOU WILL DO THIS AND YOU WILL DO THIS NOW I WILL HOLD YOUR HAND NOW GET OVER THERE" instruction with my crazy mom eyes bugging out, we finally got her picture. She looks like Photo Counter Ryan is threatening to cut her. Next, Presley. That little lady won't even budge. She is shrieking like a pterodactyl and is attaching herself to me using all four of her orangutan limbs. After five minutes of brainstorming solutions with Photo Counter Ryan... of which I was coming up with all the ideas, and he was shooting them all down while simultaneously rolling his eyes, tapping his steel-toed foot, and sighing loudly to make sure I knew how much this was ruining his day. Meanwhile, I am still trying to pry the little gal off me and working up quite the sweat mustache.
I ended up awkwardly running out of there, equal parts embarrassed and frustrated. Without passport photos. Awesome. We're going to try this again in a few days.
Here's to hoping for :
a) Such an awesomely easy breezy experience it won't even be worth recounting -OR-
b) Such a heinously embarrassing predicament that I can blog about it to the delight and entertainment of my mother