The last time I remembered seeing my passport was a few weeks ago after a quick shopping trip to Buffalo. I left my passport in the visor of my car after that. L and I had been packing all night and we were both going on the assumption that my passport was in my car. After getting ready for bed, I all of a sudden realize that I had my car interior professionally cleaned a week or two ago and that I didn't get a passport back in my bag of stuff I left in the car. I panicked, threw on some clothes and ran out to the car, which is a block away from my apartment.
It's raining out tonight. As I walked under my umbrella, a group of three strangers walked towards me.
"Hurry up, man," said the first girl, obviously wanting to get out of the rain as quickly as possible. There was a guy close behind her who was clearly sharing the same sentiment. A few metres behind that came a guy who was limping rather than walking.
"It's okay," he called to them, "don't wait up for your crippled friend or anything."
I got to my car, checked the visor, and quickly ascertained that the passport was not their, nor was it in the glove compartment or the console.
I rushed home in a complete frenzy and started tearing up my sock drawer, which is where I usually keep my passport. Isn't that where everyone keeps their important stuff? Anyway, not there. Not in the bag of stuff I took out of my car before sending it to be cleaned. Not in the bag of random crap I keep around. Not in the box by the front door.
"What if the carwash people stole it?!" I speculated.
"Uh, what use would they have for a stolen passport?" asked L, the voice of reason.
I continued looking under things and behind things and inside things.
And finally, after destroying my bedroom, my car, and some of my living room I discovered that my passport had been, all along, on top of my dresser.
I hate travelling.