0703072115 - Do zebras have black stripes?

The passports for the kids started to arrive in the post - my daughter's passport arrived first - all was good except it had the photo of my son. The passport with my daughter's name had my son's picture. My son's passport has not arrived yet and it probably had my daughter's picture but for all we know it could have a picture of Joe Bloggs.

The passport office is a remarkable place - located on the 4th floor of a non-descript office building in the city. Stepping from the elevator, a visitor is greeted by a sign that says "Welcome to the passport office of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade - by appointment only." As if to say - if you don't have an appointment then kindly leave now. The entrance to the majestic hall for the customer relations counters is dominated by a strange freestanding computer screen that both invites and challenges you to gain entry by entering your appointment number. There are several ways to make customers welcome, this is not one of them.

The message on the screen is simply says "Enter your appointment number" in bold letters and in fine print gives instructions on who to call if you don't have one and the directions to a phone not more than two meters away that will automatically dial the receptionist.
"Hello, I am standing in the passport office and I would like make an appointment" says me in my best this-is-stupid voice to the helpful and courteous staff located somewhere else in the known universe. I was given a simple two-digit number and then tried to enter that into the strange freestanding computer screen that both invites and challenges you to gain entry. There were 12 spaces available so I used the first two spaces. It gave an error message. I used leading zeros and it gave an error message. I read the instructions and tried again and still caused and an error. I asked the guy behind the counter who had been watching me go through this absurd procedure what I was doing wrong. "Oh, you have a queue number already," he said and pointing at a completely different screen " your number will show up there.”

The passport office is different to that of other departments. What made it so different was the fact that there was no one else there. There was no queue. There were no other people waiting. The place was empty. I had to wait for my number to be called. Once at the counter I was told to fill out a form 2B – in front of them, while the staff waited. It was a photocopy of a photocopy so the lines were a bit skewed – and this was odd because they had insisted that my signature must remain in the box.

The story unfolded and gradually formed in the mind of clerk at the counter like a miniature mystery. There is a problem with the passport – not his passport – his kid's passport – the kid doesn’t have his passport – he has one passport and the other hasn’t arrived – the passport has the wrong name – it has the wrong photo – whose passport has the wrong photo? – the daughter's name is on the son's passport – now I know whodunnit.

“We will have to keep this” they said as if I was going to use it for my hybrid Frankenstein child that I was planning to make with the brain of one child and the outer skin of the other. They suggested that maybe I had made a mistake with naming my children. It was perfectly reasonable for them to assume that a boy would have such an obvious and blatant girl's name. There are some parents that do such things to their children. Ask any man that has been forced to grow up with the name of “Kerry”.