And then there was passport panic (part 2.0)

Lil and I arrive at the airport at a quarter past 3. At half past four, the gate closes. For some people, this may already be a little chilly, but under normal circumstances, this should not be a problem. I repeat: under normal circumstances.

Four minutes later. “Um Lil, I can't find my passport.” Drifting digging in the bag. “Just relax Kiek, you've got it fixed, just have a good look.” I search well. I SEARCH damn well. It's not there. It's really not there. “Kiek, where did you leave him last?” “I DON'T KNOW, OH MY GOD.” And suddenly the penny drops. The switcheroo. Just before leaving the door, I hastily flicked my entire contents into another bag. My passport in the safe zip pocket. The compartment that suddenly turns out not to be so safe.

In a blind panic, I call my mother. “Mum! I am standing up right now Schiphol and the gate closes in an HOUR and I think my passport is still at home.” My mother is in the supermarket. I urge her if maybe she could please - sorry sorry sorry sorry - race home like hell for her stupid-ass daughter to search the pink bag for a passport. In the meantime, armpits start to sting. She can only be there in three quarters of an hour, at the soonest. We're not going to make it. Never ever that you can get through customs within a quarteríer from the departure hall and be at the gate on time. Certainly not the Easy Jet gate which is practically in Hoofddorp.

I hate my life right now times ten

“And an emergency passport?”, Lil suggests. Maybe that's another option. I get a very nervous giggle. For the next hour, everything goes in a blur. I run across the WHOLE effing airport, have a panic attack, leave Lil with the suitcases to make a dash through the crowd, to the Royal Military Police, where I stand at the counter bellowing enormously that I do have a Very Big Problem And Really Do Need A Passport Now And Quickly. The gentleman looks at me with a raised eyebrow and doesn't seem too keen on my aggressive approach. The question about how long I would be flying. “Less than an hour,” I reply. “Such a passport is not made 1,2,3 huh. Do you have official photos with you?” No fuck fuck I don't have those of course. “Just see if that photo booth still works. Sometimes it doesn't work, then you have to walk all the way down again. Might take a while then.‘ I hate my life at the moment times ten.

While I almost vomit as I take my seat in a photo booth for the emergency document, Lil winds the State Police man around her finger with some gift. Suddenly, my passport is ready within 10 minutes. A pink passport admittedly. It will cost you 47 euros (not that much, to be honest) but then you will have something. Such stress.

We're not there yet. Now all that remains is to run back to the check-in desk to check in the HugeAss suitcase. Leading 70 people because ‘emergency’, I stand panting at the counter explaining that I have no passport but want to check in a suitcase. Running back to the State Police man again. Chatter-chatter wet back. Lil did some more flirting and suddenly the best bloke in uniform does want to come with us to ‘special’ customs where only losers with emergency passports arrive. He opens all the gates for us, we are legally allowed to push forward everywhere and suddenly the State Police guy is our best friend.

Final score? Five minutes before our gate closes, we are in front of the plane. Do not try this at home people. Do not try this at home.

P.S: so we were bizarrely lucky because while checking in the suitcase, I heard that emergency documents are rarely created for goofy people who forget it at home. Only if your passport is no longer valid do you normally stand a chance.

P.P.S: also read: And then there was passport panic (part 1) A donkey doesn't stumble twice on the same stone right? Ahum.