Paperwork
Are we doomed to a digital panopticon, or not?
This was a day I had prepared for extremely diligently and with some apprehension. Since I made the decision to apply for a French long stay visa, I have spent hours and hours researching their requirements, the timing, the potential pitfalls and causes for rejection. I had photos taken that had the correct background and lighting and were the exact dimensions, with my head and shoulders taking up the exact percentage of space that Le Consulat Général de France requires. There was temporary health insurance that must include repatriation of my remains, proofs of income, proof of lodgings upon arrival, formal letters promising not to work, and detailing my plans, etc., etc. I was also required to present all of the documents in person, and to submit to being fingerprinted. My appointment was at 2:15 in the afternoon, I was to be no more than ten minutes early or ten minutes late, at the nearest outpost of Le Consulat, which was in Seattle. These days it is cheaper to fly.
So, I booked flights in the morning and evening, allowing myself loads of time on both sides of my appointment. As is always the case, the weather was fine above the clouds, and the morning sun created a rainbow halo around the shadow of our plane. Indubitably a good sign. 
Puget Sound appeared below us as we passed Seattle, then doubled back southward toward the airport. I did not have the luck to be on the side of the plane that had the view looking down into the city, but I did see the University of Washington’s football stadium on the water, the Home of the Huskies. They were ancient rivals of the college team my research department supports, which made it somewhat interesting, and visible if one looks hard, in today’s featured photo.
The light rail train took me downtown, through an approach just as interminable and dreary as the one by car. Seriously, even Portland has a much more impressive approach, or perhaps it is that which has spoilt me.
I arrived in good time and found the building where my appointment was to be. Mildly enjoying the urban vibe, I then found a place for lunch next to what seemed like another encouraging sign. I’m not being silly, my name is really not very common!
The office was on the 22nd floor of a building with a very grand, two-tiered lobby with hand-scanners to gain access to the banks of elevators. 
The appointment went very well, and my quarter-inch thick dossier became three-quarters of an inch thick after the nice functionary was finished. I signed documents in triplicate. I surrendered my passport for scrutiny by the actual French consulate in Washington D.C. And then I asked her if they had something to give me so that I could get past TSA to board my flight back home. I’d not ever thought of that issue. She said, no, they did not. I have not changed my driver’s license to the required Real ID, whatever that is, because I paid for a passport and they work for everything. My research department asked if I had gotten the passport card, and I said no, I always thought they were the stupidest idea I’d ever heard of.
Well, there was nothing to do but go back to the airport and hope for the best. Perhaps the documents I had to prove my story, along with having shown my passport that very morning to TSA, along with some charm, would convince the TSA officials.
It turns out that you can simply pay the U.S. government $45.00 and somehow or other they will let you on the plane. Or if you have Apple ID or Google ID, that corporate identification works, though your state-issued photo identification no longer does. Nor does charm and lots of paperwork explaining why the French government took away your passport. I charmingly persisted until the TSA worker got his supervisor, who being a dual U.S. – French citizen chatted with me while we waited for his manager, who then deferred the decision to a person on the phone. My point was that the TSA website itself said the $45 TSAConfirmID system was optional. They were flummoxed, until they discovered that the website was out of date. Well, then, thanks for your troubles, and yes I’ll pay. This all took place while I had this cheery sign, situated for some reason directly in front of my face.
The oddly specific fine certainly encouraged me to maintain my compliant and cheery deportment.
However, once the TSA site sent me to the universal government website where one makes payments, it displayed an ERROR message. I tried again: a worse message saying TURN BACK, SECURITY RISK. Turns out, after some hasty and surreptitious whispering, it was revealed that the site was down. Oh dear. Bombs and assassinations and talks of world war for the last four days could have their effects, indeed.
The young dual citizen said “Ok, then, here we go.” He suddenly produced a piece of paper for me to fill out, fed my name into his little screen, found they had a record of my passport from that morning, and then he escorted me through security, not even giving them time to stare at the contents of my bag on their x-ray screen. He said no fee required.
And I got home on time.
