They sat me in a comfy chair, sure, but then a lady, dressed all in black (I kid you not) comes in and says she's the registrar and she has a few questions for me. (I'm surprised they didn't shine a bright light in my eyes!) Where do I live? How long have I lived there? Can I prove that?
I hand over my ID with my address on it and a utility bill. She stares at it for a moment and I start to get nervous. Have I brought enough proof? How else can I prove I live there? Maybe I should have brought family photos of us standing in front of the house. Do I even have a photo of us standing in front of the house? But then would that really prove we live there and we're not just taking pictures of ourselves standing in front of a random house? Maybe my four-year-old can be a witness that he lives in the house in the (hopefully I have one on my phone) picture and has lived there his whole life. Children are known to be truth-tellers, right?
Apparently my original documents were enough and she didn't need my photo or small witness. But then the next round of questions began. Am I married? Can I prove that this child is mine? Has he been to a doctor? Can I prove that?
Apparently my original documents were enough and she didn't need my photo or small witness. But then the next round of questions began. Am I married? Can I prove that this child is mine? Has he been to a doctor? Can I prove that?
I hand over the birth certificate and immunization records and hope my word is good enough that I'm married. I did provide my husband's email so that has to count for something, right? Maybe I should have brought in a wedding picture. I guess she could call and ask him if he's married to me. He'd claim me, right?
She looks over the documents I've brought in and gives a little harrumph. I sit quietly, waiting for the verdict, and she finally looks up at me and . . . ladies and gentlemen, WE ARE IN! We made the cut! Whew! That was a close call. And I didn't even have to show any pictures or call my husband.
Maybe the next stop will be the FBI. CIA. NCS. Black ops. You never know, but hey, I'm definitely mentally prepared now.
3 comments:
I read this to my daughter-in-law this morning while we were feeding the twins, and she laughed out loud, but then she got serious. Really? It's that hard to get into school?
My son is also going into junior high. He told someone at his school which school he was planning to attend, they gave him the right course selection form, told him which classes to pick, and he turned it in at school. We even skipped registration night, since one of the honors teachers is in our ward, and signed the form at church. What kind of school are you putting him in?
LOL Debra, it just shows my thought processes! (Don't judge me! haha. I always go worst case scenario).
T, it's just regular public school. :)
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