The Case of the Missing Passport--Part 2

I wake at 5:25 am, wash and dress quickly, then stand in the darkened room, surveying the last few items to pack.  “Ok, Lord.  Where is that pasport?!  It's time for it to show up!!!"

Suddenly my roommate sits up from an apparent coma sleep and stumbles downstairs to the bathroom.  Seizing the opportunity to open the drape and get some light in the room, to make sure I don’t forget something, my eye is drawn down to the dark corner between a dark bookcase and the window.  There, under the dark drape, on the dark carpeting, is an even darker black splotch.  

YES!!! 

My passport pouch--intact.   

Surpressing the war whoop and happy dance (the whole house is still asleep), I wait until Erica stumbles back in, eyes mostly closed, making a beeline for her bed.  

“PSST!  Erica!” 

One eye half opens and she looks confused.  I wave the passport before her...both eyes fly open.  

“WHA....How did you.....?!”  

We do a modified version of the happy dance/war whoop, and then I hug her goodbye and tiptoe downstairs.  While the cat meows for breakfast, I find my shoes, and a post-it note.  

“PASSPORT FOUND!!!!  See Erica for details!”

With that, the van arrives, and I open the door to greet my driver with passport hanging like a trophy around my neck (where it will stay till check-in!).  I enjoy the jaw-dropping moment.   

“Wha....where....how...?!”

“I’ll tell you in the van...we have plenty of time now!”  

I climb in and greet my traveling companions by waving my trophy before their sleepy eyes.  

“Wha....where....how...?!”

We are all very awake now, laughing and reviewing the story.  And so the morning proceeds quite differently from the way it could have.  By 8:30 am,  Mat, Jess and I are sitting in the airport cafe, enjoying breakfast.  As departure time approaches, we leave Mat to find his bus, and find our check-in counter.  I don’t ever remember quite the satisfaction of plunking a passport down on a counter, like any other normal traveler.  I could have been sequestered away in some immigration office, answering endless questions, verifying identity, anticipating the despicable task of cancelling credit cards, replacing papers and documents, and emptying the bank account a little further.  All because my roommate had to go to the bathroom, 20 minutes before I had to catch a van.  

Praise God for bladders.