So...Here we are. At the airport. With my boarding pass. And my passport. I smile at the gentleman in charge, who will (hopefully) let me drop-off my luggage.
He takes my passport, checks it for forgery and all the usual suspects. And then he proceeds to look me up on the passengers’ list. A minute goes by, his eyebrows go up and down several times. He frowns. He sighs. He doublechecks the spelling. Still nothing. Finally, he admits:
- I can’t seem to find you.
(Neither do I, that happens quite often. Nearly every day. I should get a chip under my skin to be able to find myself when needed)
- Yes. Well, I have two surnames, I don’t know which one you were looking for.
(I should really drop one surname, or at the very least tie them together with a little -. Joanie B-P)
- Ah! - He has just found the answer.- Yes, you were listed under your first family name, but as a man. That is why I couldn’t find you. There you go. Have a nice flight!
Damn. I should have taken the opportunity to become a man. Now it’s too late. My dream of becoming John B-P has just dissolved into thin air. Back to womanhood. I shall seek solace on coffee.
To be continued...
