As much as I try to be an organized and semi-responsible adult, I always manage to leave everything to the last minute, which is why I found myself being patted down the other day by security at the San Francisco passport agency. This was a visit I’d been dreading, delegating it to the ranks of the DMV and cleaning the litterbox. And with this attitude I let myself get “wanded” by a guy with a handlebar mustache and took a number (23, to be exact) to wait with the hurried masses to renew my passport on the fast track.

They were calling number five when I sat down between a family with a gibberish-speaking infant and a mysterious man who chewed on his pencil like it was a delicacy. I settled in for the long-haul, shamelessly people-watched, and realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t so bad. In fact, I was fascinated.

I wondered, where are all these people going? Where have they been? Who are these infant international travelers (when I didn’t go anywhere that required a passport until in my early 20s)?

After a short 20 minutes of such musings my number got called, and I produced my old passport, the requisite mug-shot photos, and a check covering the expedite fee. As I left the agency, one of the security agents told me to “have a nice trip,” and that’s when it hit me. The passport agency was my first step on my upcoming journeys. Maybe it’s just the pre-trip anticipation, but I found it an unexpectedly pleasant glimpse into a world of travelers, of strangers on the move, going through the necessary bureaucracy in order to get the big “world-is-my-playground” pay-out.

How does your passport experience stack up against my own?