Where I Stand — Brian Greenspun: Immovable objects

Friday, Oct. 15, 2004 | 5:14 a.m.

ENOUGH POLITICS for a moment.

I am not as smart as the pundits on television who know what the voters are going to do now that Sen. John Kerry has proved his mettle by sweeping the debates against President George W. Bush.

By that, I mean I still don't have a clue which one is going to win the election next month, although I believe Nevadans have already decided for whom they are going to vote. That would be the fellow who has promised to join Sen. Harry Reid to stop Yucca Mountain and not the guy (that would be the president) who is doing everything he can to make sure Nevada gets the country's radioactive garbage right here in our backyard.

We are a proud and patriotic group out here, but we are not stupid. Cutting our own throats is not part of our playbook. So, rather than join the chorus trying to sing the song of knowledge about that which we cannot know until Nov. 2 -- even with the GOP efforts to prevent voters from reaching the polls -- I have decided to talk about the hardened underbelly of politics gone astray. The bureaucracy!

Yes, our beloved bureaucrats and all that they do to make our lives better is the subject of today's essay. And it ain't a pretty picture. I am sure there are worse stories floating about the Silver State, stories that would make your hair curl and your blood boil, but I don't know them. Yet. This one I know because it is mine.

Every once in a while my publisher gives me a few days off to rest my brain and bones. Last week was one of those times, so I decided to combine business with pleasure and head over to Belfast, Ireland. The business was to do what I could to make sure the peace between north and south was still holding fast. The pleasure was a few days of golf in what has to be golf heaven on Earth.

As part of the proper prior planning that goes into every one of my international sojourns, I checked my passport to make sure all was in order. It wasn't. The expiration date was barely two days after my planned return. With all the things that could go wrong, traveling on a passport with only two days to spare was not a good idea. No problem, I will just renew it, I said. So I asked my trusted adviser, Cindy Robinette, to research the best and most efficient way to accomplish that simple task, given the fact that I had less than five working days to do so.

Cindy made an appointment at the Los Angeles passport office (I was going to be there anyway) on the Friday before the Sunday I was to leave. She told me that the person she spoke to said a one o'clock appointment gave me ample time in which to handle the paperwork, and that I would leave the building with new credentials in hand. Guaranteed!

At the appointed hour I presented myself to the appropriate person behind the bulletproof window. She gave me a number, told me to wait and questioned whether two hours would be sufficient to get my new passport. I advised her I had flown in from out of town, at which time she told me, "No problem, we can get it done for people who come from out of town." I was comforted. But only for a few minutes.

When my number was called, I went to another appropriate bulletproofed window and presented a handful of documents and the two required photos. The lady was very nice. She took all my paperwork and immediately began stamping -- everything. If she told me once she told me a dozen times that she didn't think I could get my passport that day because they closed the office at 3 p.m. and it was already 1:30. I tried to get her to hurry but she kept stamping and talking.

When she did return, she advised me that there was no way I could get what I needed to leave the country on Sunday morning. I calmly asked to speak to her supervisor. Staying calm was not easy. When the man in charge came out, he went to the window immediately adjacent to where I was standing and asked me to step to the right. I did. One foot to the right! I think it was a power thing.

I told the man my story, to which he replied that he couldn't do anything to help me. He explained that it takes two hours to do the necessary paperwork and since it was already nearing 2 p.m., it would be impossible because he was going home at 3 p.m. Of course, remembering the good old days of Las Vegas, I offered to pay cash for any and all overtime for however many public servants it took to stay past 3 p.m. to process my new passport. I was still calm. The man said he couldn't.

"You can't or you won't?" I asked. "I can't and I won't," he retorted. I was still calm, although I have no idea how. "Why can't you?" That's what I said. "Because they won't let me." That's what he said. "Who is they?" I asked. "The State Department," he answered.

I was no longer as calm as I had been. Realizing that I was getting nowhere and that he was the final authority in all of Los Angeles, I asked for my paperwork and my passport back, figuring that I would work on getting back into the country after I had safely gotten out. That's when he lit me up. "You can have your passport back but it isn't any good," he said. He was actually smiling when he said it. "Why not?" I asked, "It doesn't expire for another week," I explained. "Your passport has been canceled," he said gleefully, I am sure. I know I said something in response but I can't be certain if it was in English.

That nice lady who stamped everything in sight? She stamped my perfectly good passport "canceled" and there was no way that fellow was going to fix it. He, like someone else high up in government, wouldn't even admit it was his mistake. So there I stood without my old but perfectly valid passport and no chance to get a new one. And I was supposed to leave the country in less than two days.

I asked the nice man if he knew how stupid his explanation sounded, and he said yes but remained steadfast in his determination not to help one bit. Upon determination that that was his final answer, I did the only thing a citizen in good standing could do when faced with the immovable object of the federal bureaucracy. I stepped outside the building and called Capitol Hill.

It was 5:15 on Friday night in Washington and things did not look good, but then I got lucky. A young man took my call. I explained my predicament. He agreed it was a predicament, especially on Friday night. But he did not shrink from the challenge. He promised to try his best and said he would call me back. I went back inside and stared at the man who wouldn't and couldn't help a citizen in need. He couldn't have cared less.

All of a sudden, things started to happen. The man who couldn't, suddenly thought that he could. The voicemail on my cell phone advised me that someone in the Los Angeles office was on the case and everything I had been told by the man in charge was "in error." I was advised by another voicemail that I would have my new passport before the day was out. That's when the supervisor called me up to his window (he used the microphone even though I was the only one left in the room) to advise me that he had found a way to restart the computers and that he would have my brand new identity papers in just a few minutes.

He was good to his word (I watched him do the work all by himself, which took him well past his quitting time of 3 p.m.) and a short time later I was out the door with that which had been promised.

I condensed the story to fit in this space and to save further embarrassment for some of the people who work for us and are paid by us to take care of us. Believe me, the full story was not pretty.

And here's the wind-up. I found out later what happened. That enterprising young man on Capitol Hill persevered until finding someone in the State Department who listened to his story. Common sense prevailed and some kind of talking to was directed toward the Los Angeles office. The passport that couldn't and wouldn't be done was done a few minutes later.

I am sure there are worse stories. And I am confident that there are many more good stories about those who work for the government who do their jobs properly. I am reminded, though, of the signs which hang above the offices at vegas.com. They say, "Think of yourself as a customer." Perhaps I should send one of those signs to the man in charge of the passport office in Los Angeles.

On second thought, that would be a waste of a good sign.

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