Ode to invisible Joe

Joe, Joe, ya big schmo.



What’s with you not getting into the office until 8:30 on weekdays? Don’t you know I was lined up outside your door at 6:45am? Out there, in the cold, cruel streets of Victoria, where I could’ve been attacked by seagulls, or smothered by friendly locals who couldn’t believe that I’d flown All That Way just to get a passport in the dark early morning. Out there in the drizzle, chatting up the Commissionaires who realized I knew what I was doing when I said “I’m here to see Joe about an emergency passport renewal”. Out there in the pre-dawn when Guy (oh, excuse me... "Geeee'), the gregarious commissionaire looked at me with a grin and said “You’re here awfully early, then. Joe doesn’t get in until 8:30. But someone else might be able to help you out. They’re a helpful lot up there” And Joe? He was right.



But you know what, Joe? You may have been my first Passport love, but now there’s a bigger space in my heart for Danielle. You see, Joe, while you were picking out which understated Canadian Bureaucrat Cologne to apply this morning, she was already at her station, waiting for D402 to be called. Waiting for me, Joe. She was there for me, while you were still scraping ice off your windshield.



So tomorrow morning? When I take my green Passport Retrieval form, with its bright red “URGENT REQUEST” sticker on it, to the front desk, it’s Danielle who’s going to get the Ghirardelli “Citrus Sunset” dark chocolate bar with the Thank You note attached.


But you know what, Joe? I bet she’ll share it with you.


She’s great, like that.

But while I'm racing to make the 9am ferry, Joe? I'll still be thinking about you.