Socks, Talks, and the Movement of Clocks

In hindsight, the high-five was probably a bad idea. I regret nothing.

You'd probably like some background for this statement, and there is one. It's incredibly lengthy, and troublesome to untangle, but I'll do my best. Here it is: I needed a passport to get to Europe.

Now that you've gotten the background, let's talk about the events leading up to what is arguably my  greatest moment.

"I need coffee," I said to no one in particular, who also happened to be Emily.

"You think we'll get food?"she asked, clearly paying as much attention to our conversation as I was.

"I dunno," I responded, removing presumably clean toddler underwear from on top of my satchel. Absentmindedly, I folded it and handed it to the three-year-old who clearly knew where it belonged better than I did. Tabitha raced off, and, judging from the piercing shriek that echoed from the now open bathroom door, I knew that she had put it away properly.

Mom strode in with Jonathan in tow.

"Let's go, are y'all ready?"

Resounding "yes ma'ams" sounded from everyone around me, who had all somehow managed to find the socks and/or shoes they had vehemently denied owning until now.

I slung the bag across my body, snagging my hair in the strap's buckle.

"Yep," I chimed in, eyes watering.

We piled into the van, and I quickly acclimated to my role as the Child Friendly DJ, playing only the best music from 2008: High School Musical. After suffering in mute horror for almost three minutes, Caleb, the bathroom shrieker extraordinaire, took over. His music taste is interesting. I've never heard rats playing banjos with plastic forks before.

We arrived at the post office, and only Mom and I got out. After all, it would only take about 20 minutes if the person was slow. We were the only customers in the building, and there were two tellers.

"I can take you," said a man on the left side of the enclosed desk. "Passport, eh?" he began, before vocalizing a series of what were definitely intended to be words.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, yeah-!" he chirped, before very enthusiastically repeating what he said. I assume that's what he did, anyway. "-so anyway, I'm just gonna fix up this passport for you."

He gestured toward my passport photo and muttered something very happily to Mom about, "I had an old girlfriend-"

I understood nothing. His accent was too thick to grant me anything but the smallest discernment of his meaning. He continued his story, which involved him being in the army and dating his (captain's? colonel's? senior officer's?) daughter, who had blonde hair. He was very much amused, and found the entire thing hilarious. Heck, I might have too if it had been in English. Mom and I both laughed at what seemed to be appropriate times, although neither of us had the faintest idea where the story was going. Or where it had been, really. I was focusing intently on the shape of his mouth as it moved, trying to see the shape of his words and pair them with the warbling intonations he made. My temple throbbed. He had only two lines to fill out on the document, and would lower his pen to almost touch the paper... before lifting it up again because his supervisor had gone.

It was then that Mom started to laugh to herself. It was also then that I knew I wouldn't make it out of that tiny post office alive. Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic, but it seemed reasonable at the time. We stood in front of this man's desk, completely without any comprehension of the chatter he tirelessly maintained. Mom was beside herself, giggling in despair. She started playfully kicking at me under the desk as if to say Look at this guy. I have no idea what's happening and I can't believe we can't leave yet. The headache I'd acquired did not improve.

"-your wire hand," he clucked to me, raising his right hand.

"What?"

"-what a hand!" he cheerfully yapped.

This happened a few more times, with me asking slightly varied versions of the word what and him responding with incoherent mumbling.

I gave up. And leaned across the desk to give the best high-five ever.

He stood dumbstruck for a moment, just staring at me. I stared back. Then he grinned and asked, very clearly, "Do you swear that this information is correct? If so, raise your right hand and affirm that this is true."

Mom and I both got coffee afterwards. It was nice.