And then there was passport panic...

Only four hours of sleep to go. My heart is in my throat. Where could that thing be? Where Kiek, WHERE, think clearly now! You can't be serious about this? Are you really such a loser that you lost that thing right before tonight?

I’m taking you to Wednesday night. The night when Mrs. Smartypants was supposed to be in bed by 10:00 PM, but of course that was not the case again. Totally my own fault, because I had to and would arrive early in Paris. That morning flight at 8:00 AM seemed like a great idea at first. Although, flying at 8:00 AM means being at the airport by 6:00 AM. While there are no trains running around that time, so that means sitting in a taxi at a quarter past 5. And that means… getting up at a quarter past 4… fuck my life.

My friend Marlies (who has to come all the way from Epe, Gelderland) suddenly finds the morning flight a lot less funny and decides out of necessity to crash at my place. Which does lead to a spontaneous sleepover, but also to chatting deep into the night, hyperactivity, and not being able to sleep. At half past 10 in the evening, I only just start packing my suitcase. At 11 PM, I proudly click my life on four wheels shut and we can start on the sleeping part. But first, a little more chatting of course. At half past 12, we doze off. So far, so good.

‘I wake up with a start. Shit, almost forgot my passport. Careful haha.’

And then it began.

12:10 PM: I wake up with a start. Shit, almost forgot my passport. Careful haha.

12:11 PM: I jump out of bed and come to the conclusion that my passport is not in my usual ‘Important Documents Spot’. The ‘haha’ immediately gives way to instant sweat beads.

12:17 PM: “Uh, Marlies, I have a problem. I don’t know where my passport is.” “Kiek, where did you leave it last?” “I DON’T KNOW OH MY GOD.”

12:23 PM: My boyfriend gets woken up by a call. He doesn’t know either. The thing isn’t at his place either. I just ignore the question of where I last saw it.

12:33 PM: A grand bag check. The whole house is turned upside down. In less than four hours, the taxi will be at my door to go to Schiphol.

12:45 PM: My brain gets a panic shot. Normal thinking is no longer possible. WHERE THE HELL would I be if I were a passport? I’ve checked all the ‘logical’ places.

12:47 PM: Foam-mouthed, I let myself fall to the ground. Maybe this is a sign from above. Am I not allowed to leave because there are scary riots in Paris? Is the plane going to crash? Is this my punishment for packing at the last minute? Marlies slaps me in the face and my inner Kiki Panic drama queen makes way for the Rational Ronald mode. Okay, calm down. What would Ronald do?

12:48 PM: An emergency passport. That’s my only salvation. But it’s May vacation. And freaking busy at Schiphol. Do we need to go to the airport now to fix something? MOM. HELP! Drama queen strikes back. And Ronald is already a crappy name.

12:51 PM: Bedroom + living room is now a ‘situation exploded’. All my bags are turned inside out throughout the house. Crumbs and train tickets everywhere and my mood suddenly shifts to instant serial killer. WHY DO I ACTUALLY HAVE SO MANY BAGS?

12:52 PM: Marlies: “Kiek, have you checked that bag yet?” She points to an orange Adidas sports bag. A sports bag. Hell yeah, as if I would ever put my passport in there.

12:52:14. It’s just unbelievable? There lies that purple thing. IN the sports bag. Apparently I did put it in there for the casting weekend of Expedition Robinson during Easter. More about that last part soon.

12:53 Marlies gets a high five, the Adidas bag gets a smack, the passport gets a place of honor in my hand luggage, and my armpits get a spray of deodorant for the shock.

The moral of this stressful story you can probably already guess. Dear travel freaks, pack on time. As in: not running around the house with sticky bras and straighteners four hours beforehand is already a good start.

Me? Adult? Ha! I still laugh when the ketchup bottle makes a fart sound when I squeeze it.

Sigh.