Quote of the day:

I honestly think it is better to be a failure at something you love than to be a success at something you hate.
—George Burns

Thursday wasn’t quite as cool as the previous days, but I was determined to get my Septa ID renewed, so I changed my morning routine and skipped the early walk so I’d be able to set off for Septa headquarters in order to get there by 8:00 AM when the ID office opened. Based on my experience the previous day, I figured I didn’t need an appointment, at least not that early in the morning.

Something odd happened when I was walking there. On the previous day, it had taken me a bit over 30 minutes to get to 1234 Market Street, so I started my journey at 7:26 (actually 6:26 my time as I don’t observe the stupid Daylight Saving Time). Around a quarter to the hour I realized I was only a block away from my destination, so I had covered the same ground in only 20 minutes. I hadn’t intended to walk any faster, but I suppose when I’m determined to achieve a goal, I just automatically move faster. Good to know.

So I stopped off at 12th and Chestnut and sat a spell to rest my weary feet. 

A few minutes before the hour I resumed my trek and arrived at the ID station in the basement of Septa headquarters at one minute to eight. The same woman who had been there the day before greeted me and said I’d have to take a seat as she didn’t open until—and then she glanced at the time and smiled. It was clear that she didn’t recognize me, but then she probably deals with dozens of folks for only a minute or two at a time every day.

I gave her my old Septa ID and she asked for another ID so I unzipped my backpack and handed her one of my birth certificates. As it happens I have two. My mother gave me one decades ago, but when I went to apply for a passport, I couldn’t find it, so I obtained another one from Harrisburg for, I think, a ten dollar fee. Shortly thereafter I found the one that my mother gave me, so I have two birth certificates.

She had me fill out a very short form and and asked if I wanted to use the same photo or have a new one taken. That surprised me.

“Oh, if you think it still looks like me, let’s use that old one.” It’s only about eight years old. I was still dying my beard in those days.

“Yes, lots of folks try to keep their younger selves in the photos. Looks good to me.” 

Then she stapled my old ID to the paperwork and directed me to Room 2, right behind the trolley.

Yes, there is an old trolley car in the basement of the Septa building; I meant to take a photo of it, but forgot. Here’s a photo of one.

When I arrived at Room 2, there were eight people sitting in the chairs outside the room, nearly filling them. But I thought I was the first person of the day?! Where did they all come from?

Anyway, I went into Room 2 and handed my paperwork to the kind woman in there, and she told me to take a seat and that she’d call my name momentarily. 

The only seat available was between two guys who were both playing podcasts through their phone’s speakers, so when I sat down between them I realized I wouldn’t be able to hear my name called, so I got up and stood a few feet away. Shortly thereafter, someone came and walked into the back area, and all eight people got up and followed him. So I had the chairs all to myself.

But there was a problem in in Room 2. Some fat guy went in there and conferred with the woman and then got on the phone. After a few minutes the woman came out and disappeared behind the trolley, only to reappear a minute or two later and beckoned me to follow her. She led me to Room 4, where another nice woman finally made my ID for me.

I asked her how to use it, as it’s been years since the last time I rode a bus and I know there have been lots of changes since then.

“Do I just swipe it?” 

“Nope. No swiping. You tap it.” And she made a tapping motion against the equipment on her desk.

I thanked her and went on my way.

Now I have to get down to Oregon Avenue to get my photo taken for my driver’s license. And the only reason I need that is for identification purposes, as I don’t drive anymore. As has become abundantly clear, an expired driver’s license isn’t even good enough to prove my date of birth.