Come on, Canada — I'm just a boring, old aunt

I'm looking for Passport Canada's lost and found box.
It seems my passport application grew little feet and ran away.
Martin in Montreal can't find it.
Edward in Edmonton can't find it.
No name in Ottawa can't find it.
Everybody in Gatineau, Quebec can't find it.
Atonia in Toronto can't find it.
New Brunswick and Saskatchewan haven't weighed in yet, but I'd bet the family farm, they can't find it either.
Through a tracking number, Canada Post confirmed the passport office in Gatineau, Que. received my application May 28.
There was no worry  —  page one of the adult passport application reads, "Our goal is have the passport in the mail within 20 working days."
So far, I've waited 43 working days and had about 20 telephone conversations with Passport Canada nationwide.
The first time I called the 1-800 number to check the status of my passport, I grew old on hold. I was told no help was available and to call back later, I did. Three times. Finally, a recorded voice assured me my call was important to Passport Canada and that I was caller No. 24.
After a 35-minute wait, my call was answered. The very young service girl told me how busy she was and, in her best grown-up voice, reminded me it would not be fair to process my application ahead of others.
One of my joys of being alive 60-plus years is to have an 19-year-old read the rule book of life. You gotta like the "be fair, wait your turn" part.
At no time during any of the calls did I asked for preferential treatment — I just want my passport so I could go to my nephew's wedding in Chicago in early August. 
Come on Canada, my application is as dull as toast.
Born in Bowmanville, Ontario on Aug. 14, 1945 to Harold and Norma (nee Alldread) Ransberry, I've never been red flagged, worked for the same Canadian company for 30 years, know all the words to O'Canada and, of course, my Canada includes Quebec.
I am not a security risk. 
There's no record of me backing a radical movement, belonging to a cult or throwing pies at any head of state, living or dead.
This is silly.
For heaven's sake, I've only been arrested once — a protest, calling on the federal government to legalize birth control, got a little out of hand and I ended up in a paddy wagon. The charge disappeared and, to show my remorse for demanding women have control over their own bodies, I gave birth over and over and over again.
I'll say it again: I am boring. I've always voted for a mainstream political party, paid my taxes and not once have I had an evil thought about Don Messer and His Islanders, Foster Hewitt or Gordon Sinclair.
Raised on a farm in rural Ontario, I can square dance and do both the hokey pokey and the highland fling and I still get teary eyed when I hear the call of the loon or watch the first snowflake fall.
I lost a great uncle at Vimy Ridge and another uncle made the ultimate sacrifice in the in the Second World War. My dad's a 70-year member of the Order of the Orange Lodge and my late mother was the president of the United Church Women's Auxiliary.
I've been married and divorced, but only once. As a bonus, I eat Ontario-grown vegetables and Alberta beef. I don't pick trilliums, I feed baby Canadian geese and I've seen a moose. 
Believe me, Canada, I'm just an aunt wanting to celebrate the marriage of her only brother's only son. I've promised to show up, shut up and wear beige.
I scrapped the plan to fly to the U.S. in favour of Plan B —  I'll drive the 11-hour trip to Chicago.
Enter Catch 22.
In order to cross a Canada-U.S. land border, a birth certificate is required.
I have a birth certificate, but Passport Canada took it. They insisted I submit it when applying for the passport.
I did consider Plan C: have my 42-year old daughter drive my car across the border, while I hide in the trunk. An international traveller, I just know my kid would refuse to smuggle her mother into another country.
Passport Canada came up with a solution today, seven days before I'm to leave. I can visit a passport office in Toronto and re-apply. They require that I, once again, fill out an eight-page form, submit photos, get a guarantor's signature and blah, blah, blah.
Apparently, after a who-knows-how long period of time, Passport Canada will review the application. Bottom line: I may or may not be issued something called a Limited Validity Passport.
Never mind what I said in response. Rather, I went to Plan D and called Canada Border Services.
My call was answered by a real human on the first ring. The lady listened to my spiel and asked one question: "Do you have a photo copy of your birth certificate?"
I answered, "Yes."
I was then advised to take the photo copy, have a lawyer or a mayor sign the back of it and bring it along to cross the border. The nice lady said I'd be welcomed into the United States.
P.S. If my passport, complete with birth certificate, ever shows up, I'll kiss the ground of Canada.

Comments

[Glenn Hubbers]

Hey Joan, wasn't Belinda offering to help people with their passport woes a while back?

Maybe she could use some of her MP clout on your behalf!