Border Crossing Banter

In the summer before our final year of high school my friends and I decided that rather than studying or working on one of our many essays, our time would be best spent travelling around Thailand. We found cheap flights and accommodation, and set about convincing our parents that universities love people who are 'worldly'. July quickly came and we flew off to Thailand in elephant printed harem pants and crop tops, inadvertently making ourselves look like inexperienced tourists rather than the desired 'travellers'. Once we'd arrived we quickly made friends with some backpackers who, unlike us, seemed to know what they were doing. After a week of traipsing around Thailand, they invited us to come to Cambodia with them. The next morning, at an unacceptably early hour, a truck came to pick us up. One of my favourite things about Thailand is the non-existence of road safety. The six of us crammed into the back of this truck that had not only no roof and ridiculously low sides, but also no back. I sat, clinging onto the side of the truck, with my feet dangling over the edge, almost touching the road. I was being burnt by the sun, blown about by the wind and bounced up and down like I was on a trampoline, slightly afraid for my life. It is the best way to travel. Eventually we arrived at the border with Cambodia. We crossed at the Chong Jom/O'Smach border crossing and everything went very smoothly. That is, until my friend walked up to the desk. The border official opened up her passport, glanced at it and, without warning, began to laugh hysterically. I was standing behind her and she turned to me in utter confusion, her eyes wide and slightly concerned (possibly about the official's mental health). We stared at him, speechless, and finally he was able to choke out the words "Wayne Rooney", pointing at her photo. This was confusing for several reasons, the first being that my friend is not Wayne Rooney. Not only is she not Wayne Rooney, she is a tall, slender girl with long, dark, curly hair, big blue eyes, and a vaguely angelic face. In short she looks nothing like Wayne Rooney. Perhaps, in her dated black and white passport photo, with her eyes looking a little small and her ears looking a bit sticky-outy, she wasn't at her best. But she certainly didn't look anything like the hot tempered footballer either. Despite this, and despite her many protestations, since that trip three years ago everyone, even her mum, has called the poor girl 'Rooney'.