The state
The nice people at Kurtti-Pellerin arranged to fly David out to California this weekend, to talk to him for a few hours tomorrow. (Who they, and what they want with David? Google ’em and guess.)
So he packed himself up (mostly; I had to remind him about such valuable items as ties and toiletries) and set his alarm for what Li calls “oh-dark-early” this morning.
I got my lazy butt out of bed fifteen minutes or so before the cab was supposed to arrive. “Um, I can’t find my driver’s license,” he said. “Any idea where it might be? I’ve got an expired one…”
I have never so wanted to shake him. Honestly.
Needless to say we did not find it in the ten minutes before he left. I sat on the couch and fumed for some time, before recalling that there wasn’t a thing I could do.
If they hadn’t let him on the plane, he’d be home by now, so he must have managed somehow. I guess he doesn’t fit The Profile (whatever The Profile actually is) as well as I do.
Occurs to me, though, that it isn’t David I ought to be angry at—it’s police-state-style security measures that don’t even have effectiveness as an argument in their favor.
Update: He found his license, he emails me. In his wallet the whole time. He is a caution and no mistake. Well, saves rooting through the entire house looking for it—not to mention worrying that they’ll detain him indefinitely for not having it.