I had recently an opportunity to renew my U.S. Coast Guard license. Who knew how difficult it would become. Others may disagree but this Tadventure© is eye-opening.
USCG mariner licenses are issued for a period of five years and following 9-11, the renewal requirements have been beefed up significantly to include the physical presence of each mariner in a Regional Examination Center (REC), twelve of which are scattered across these United States (truthfully, I have no idea how many there are but it’s not many). Since I’ve been hanging around in north Florida and the nearest REC is in Miami, circa 400 miles away, I figured I would visit the REC in Baltimore during my summer hiatus.
The renewal “package” for a mariner’s license includes all manner of government forms, identification artifacts, “official” documentation to indicate the subject in question is not a drug addict, and a physical examination. I procured a certified letter from the drug testing consortium to which I belong (you have to be subject to random drug testing at all times while holding a Coast Guard license) and carefully prepared a form showing all my sea time for the last five years (you have to have at least 360 days “at sea” during the previous five years). In an effort to garner the necessary sign-off regarding my physical prowess, I arranged for my local practitioner to give me the once over (and briefly, the once “inside”) and fill in all the requisite forms back in May. Armed with a mound of paperwork, I prepared to head up to Baltimore to be fingerprinted.
I looked for my passport to accompany my driver’s license as one of two forms of positive identification and was unable to locate same. Wondering where I might have left it (the passport) during my travels up the East coast (I always kept it in the same place so I wouldn’t misplace it), I finally decided that I must have left in on my boat in Charleston, probably placing it in the “ditch bag” in case we had abandoned ship during our trip from St. Augustine to [Norfolk] Charleston (see: “It’s a Sailboat”). Since I was heading up to Block Island, there to be joined in a week’s time by my friends “Gary and Stephanie Aston-Jones,” and my boat was in Charleston, and the “Aston-Jones Party of Two” lives in Charleston, I called “Steph” and asked her to scrounge around in my boat to locate the missing document. I figured I could stop in at the Baltimore REC on my way back to Florida after the Block Island return. Unfortunately, “Stephanie’s” efforts were in vain. Baltimore was no longer an option.
Plan B was to visit Charleston and my boat in person to locate my passport on my way back to Florida. This I did with great success. I found the passport and my birth certificate (and “Becky’s” too) exactly where I had left them. The beauty of Plan B was that there is a REC in Charleston. Adding the passport to my voluminous stack of official papers, I repaired to the aforementioned Regional Examination Center.
Upon arrival I was presented with all manner of forms to fill out (in addition to the prodigious pile of papers already in hand) which I did. I was fingerprinted and then sat in the hallway to wait until called. Every other knucklehead was called before me until finally, just before the lunch break, I was called up to the window by an ace USCG examiner person [of unknown gender; we’ll just call it “Pat”] who said my application was terrific except for one small problem. My very being trembled (see: 360 days at sea over the previous five years form).
“You need to have your doctor fill in this form. He left out some information.”
“Huh?” I muttered.
“There are two places here for visual acuity. He only filled in the ‘Corrected’ vision. As it clearly states on the form, if you fill in ‘Corrected,’ you have to fill in ‘Uncorrected.’”
“Can I call and get the numbers to place on the form?” I asked, terrified of the answer I knew was coming.
“No. He has to fill out a new form and sign it.”
“Can I have them fax a form back?” I asked as reasonably as possible.
“No. After 9-11, Homeland Security will only accept originals.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” I said [to myself].
So, “Pat” gave me a new piece of paper, thoughtfully highlighted to indicate where all parties should sign, and told me to mail it back to them within 60 days or they would shitcan my entire application. “Fantastic,” I muttered all the while wondering if I could punch “Pat” in the throat and still have my license renewed if I sent in the corrected paperwork. I decided my renewal chances would be diminished if I struck her and left, dejected and demoralized.
Driving between Charleston and Tallahassee, attempting to escape the watery clutches of Tropical Storm Fay, I called my doctor’s office and spoke with his ace health care provider support staff. I explained the problem, “He filled the form incorrectly” and asked if I could drop in for a “re-do.” This inconvenienced them greatly but my repeated threats to sit in their waiting room making animal noises all day forced their hands.
I toddled in with form in hand and the following moronic conversation transpired:
“As you can see,” I said slowly and with a few non-threatening jabs at the official U.S. Government form (Merchant Mariner Physical Examination Report, Department of Homeland Security OMB 1625-0040 U.S. Coast Guard Expires 07/31/2009, CG-719K (Rev 03/04)] placed upon the counter under the noses of the staff members, “the form requires that you record visual acuity for Uncorrected vision if you put down the Corrected values.” Furthermore, I pointed out how the U.S. Government had cleverly disguised the requirement by printing, in large, bold-face letters across the entire form:
Section III – Vision (if you have corrected vision, BOTH uncorrected & corrected MUST be shown)
The two health care providers studied the form with great interest yet little understanding.
“See,” I said, “on the original form you only put down the ‘Corrected’ values. The form requires you to put the ‘Uncorrected’ values if you do that. All you need to do is take the new form I have here, write in the ‘Uncorrected’ and ‘Corrected’ values from my examination and have the doctor sign the form.”
One the gals retrieved my medical record and searched without success for the uncorrected values, mysteriously undocumented during my previous examination.
“We don’t have the ‘uncorrected’ values in your record,” she said, smiling like a complete twit.
“No problem, can you simply give me a quick test and record the ‘uncorrected’ values, take the ‘corrected’ values from the previous test, and record both on the new form?” I said, knowing full well the eye chart was behind the very door in front of which I was standing.
“We can’t do that. The values have to be from the same day. Do you have your glasses with you?” she inquired.
Now, here’s the rub. On my way UP the East coast, I misplaced my passport. On my way DOWN the East coast, I misplaced my glasses. The passport, as you know, was located. The glasses, I fear, remain absent sans leave.
“I don’t,” I said, realizing my fears about this whole situation. Somehow I knew, at some point, my glasses would come into play.
“Well, we can’t do anything then,” she stated triumphantly with more satisfaction that I thought warranted under the circumstances.
Then she said something really, really stupid.
“Of course, if we could simply write the ‘uncorrected’ values on the old form, that would not be a problem. But since he has to sign a new form, we have to have tests and values on the same date. They have to match.”
I looked deeply for six seconds into the four eyes of the two morons standing in front of me and, like every other time I’ve been faced with people of this ilk, contemplated the chances of my convincing these two bonewhips that their logic was decidedly flawed.
If THE RULE preventing them from recording today’s uncorrected values along with May’s corrected values on the NEW form was sacrosanct, how could they POSSIBLY believe that recording today’s uncorrected values along with May’s corrected values on the OLD form be any less of a violation of THE RULE?
Deciding the odds of making that case to these idiots were less than ideal, I grumbled my farewell and, despite arriving in the Virginia Tech Chevrolet, left in a huff.
Now, knowing what a keen and prescient intellect is attached to my very being, you should have guessed that the story did not end there. Anticipating such an outcome, I had, the previous evening, researched carefully the United States Coast Guard visual acuity requirements and discovered a thing or two.
- While the form required that both corrected and uncorrected scores be shown, the requirement was only required if, in fact, corrected values were recorded. Therefore, if no corrected values were indicated (only uncorrected values), there would be no need to show corrected values and therefore, no need for me to have my glasses. You follow?
- The United States Coast Guard adheres to a very difficult to find standard in re visual acuity. My internet skills were in full force and I learned that the minimum visual acuity scores, using the Snellen eye chart, was 20/40 (20/20 being “normal” as we know).
Given those two salient facts in combination with the realization that I never use the glasses I have (can’t see a damn thing with them; I just use those cheap, half-lenses you get at the Costco for reading purposes) and learning that 20/40 was TWO full lines above the 20/20 line on the Snellen eye chart, I decided it was worth a shot to simply have my uncorrected vision tested. If it was 20/40 or better, I was in like Flynn. If not, I could pursue other avenues (like, locating my glasses or paying for an exam and another pair). I called the doctor’s office.
“Can you simply test my uncorrected vision?” I asked, after explaining the way the government forms were structured.
“Sure,” she said. “Come on over.”
And so, I did. After completing the test she said, “That’s weird. Your uncorrected vision is better than when you’re wearing your glasses.” Sure enough, I’m 20/25 sans glasses (or contacts) and 20/30 with my spectacles in place.
Then she said, “Let me get the doctor to sign the form and I’ll see if you owe any money.”
I was in full dander, anticipating her returning to tell me I owed money to pay for them to correct an error that they made but she had the good sense to stay clear of any such discussion. Good goddamn thing.
