Sandy's Say: Australian Customs
…The post mistress glanced at the photos and only made me feel worse when she remarked, over cheerily, “Oh well, there is some consolation in the fact that, in ten years time you’ll think that you look good in this photo.” I suspect that she had not been hired for her tactfulness…
Sandy James confirms that there’s no harsher reminder of the ageing process than a passport photo,
To read more of Sandy’s entertaining columns please visit http://www.openwriting.com/archives/sandys_say/
It is said that if you resemble your passport photo in any way, then you are too ill to travel.
I bore this thought glumly in mind as I handed my passport renewal form and two photos over the counter at the post office. During the previous week I had tried repeatedly to have a half decent photo taken but there had been no improvement with successive attempts. Despite all my efforts, the painful truth kept on staring back at me – a labyrinth of patterns on my face which had not been there before, wisps of grey hair and a Rudolf nose which stubbornly refused to kowtow to the disguise of any double strength foundation. I had aged noticeably since my last passport application.
The post mistress glanced at the photos and only made me feel worse when she remarked, over cheerily, “Oh well, there is some consolation in the fact that, in ten years time you’ll think that you look good in this photo.” I suspect that she had not been hired for her tactfulness.
Mind you, the many rules which govern the actual taking of passport photos do nothing to enhance the end result. You are not allowed to smile or look animated at all. You are forced under the glare of an unforgiving light and pushed up against a white board, not unlike being photographed as an arrested criminal.
It wasn’t always this way. When I was in my 20’s, I had had rather a flattering photo in my passport. This was, of course, partly because I had the glow of youth on my side but it was also greatly improved by the fact that my father had taken the shot of me in a relaxed pose in the comfort of our own home. In the photo I was smiling broadly and my eyes shone, uncluttered, from behind my contact lenses. It was this very passport which I had with me when I first travelled to Australia.
Now, anyone who has ever experienced it knows that a flight to Australia is a civilised form of torture. It is the pure tyranny of distance. We even have t-shirts in our airport souvenir shop which read, “Australia mate, it’s a bloody long way!” Just as you crawl off one seemingly endless twelve hour flight, you have to summon the courage to stagger onto the next aeroplane and numbly repeat the cattle class nightmare all over again.
On this particular journey, not only had I experienced an additional, five hour delay in Hong Kong but I had also developed a severe case of diarrhoea and vomiting. Coping with this in the confines and queues of aeroplane toilets had been quite a feat which had left me completely drained (in all senses of the word), to the point where I even contemplated asking for a wheelchair and assistance with disembarkation.
In the end, I decided against the wheelchair option and wobbled and weaved my anaemic way along to customs. I swayed in front of the Australian customs officer, red eyed behind my thick glasses, reeking not so faintly and with untamed, badly matted hair. He glanced at me and then looked back at my passport photo several times, scrutinising it very closely indeed.
“Well, strike me down!” he said in amazement. “Who on earth would have thought it possible? You actually CAN be quite a looker.”
Welcome to Australia. One of our customs is to tell it exactly how we see it.
