The name of a two-year-old boy was listed on the country's list of wanted suspects. He was briefly banned from getting on a plane bound for Turkey. The details on the toddler's passport had been the same as
those in an arrest warrant, even the date of birth.
'While going through the passport checking procedures to get on board, one of the officers on duty said they wanted to take Suhail,' Emirates Today quoted
the boy's father, Abdullah Mohamed Saleh, as saying. 'I thought he was kidding me and said 'Take him if you want'. He showed me a print-out of a document that said Suhail was wanted and there was an arrest
warrant for him.'
Officials said they would investigate the cause of the mix-up.
I pace back and forth, sure that the gates will close and we will miss
our plane. As the other passengers board I am nervously waiting for my
sister to come back with her cup of Starbucks.
Of course we don't miss the plane. As usual, she manages to make it just
before the doors close. She smiles at me. "Oh, they're boarding already,"
she comments. I don't have to answer because the flight attendant announces,
"The gates are about to close" as we scramble onto the plane.
After we settle comfortably in our seats, she turns to me and says, "You
and dad would be the first ones in line at the concentration camps."
She hit the nail on the head; our differences in personality go way back.
I am like my father -- always early, doing everything yesterday; and she is
like my mother -- always late, doing everything tomorrow. Both equally
We arrive at the Detroit Airport, Gate Number 10, and scurry down the
concourse to Gate Number 59. I'm in a panic; we have only 40 minutes before
our connecting plane takes off. Somewhere around Gate 40 she decides we have
time to stop for lunch. I'm nervously tapping my fingers while we wait for
the lunch to arrive.
When our sandwiches finally get to the table I pay the bill and make my
sister leave with sandwich in hand. "What a dumb idea to stop for lunch," I
say to her. "We have only ten minutes before the flight boards."
I run her down the concourse to Gate Number 59, anticipating a closed
gate. Of course I'm wrong. The plane is not even there yet. A 20-minute
delay is posted. She gives me a dirty look as she walks off to get another
cup of coffee. I just slink into a chair and wait.
We make it on the plane and to our destination with only one other
mishap. She almost left her suitcase in the airport. But as usual,
everything worked out for her. It always does, although I don't know why.
To her credit, she is a very efficient designer working two jobs, while I
am retired, with less pressure. On the other hand, she has set a pattern
whereby everyone expects her to be late, and would be shocked if she wasn't.
And her last-minute-itis has been passed down to the next generation. I've
heard her son say, "Mom, we have ten minutes. Do you want to go see a
I guess it goes back to when she was a three year-old stage performer
singing, "I'm a slow poke now."
I guess nobody told her that it wasn't supposed to be a lifetime project!
This is more of a driving licence than a passport story.
To be sure, your man Prawo Jazdy is a slippery fellow. He's wanted
for 50 different driving offences all over Ireland. Now, Prawo is clever
because every time we book him, his driving licence has a different address.
All the Gardaì in Ireland have a different theory about how this 'Scarlet
Pimpernel' escapes the clutches of the law. Finally, the penny
dropped, Prawo Jardy is not a Hungarian name, but the Polish words for
The Garda had caught 53 different Polish drivers, but thought they were
dealing with the same man. Naturally, the Polish community in Ireland are having a good
laugh about Mr Prawo Jazdy.
*Garda is the Irish Police force, it also means one policeman.
Gardaì is the plural.
Footnote: Please send us your funny passport story.
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