Lost passport

3:06 PM

 The year was 2003 and Principe and I had recently arrived at our house for the year in San Diego, California. Principe was doing a year abroad there and I followed him. We were going to rock it out in Cali. I was ready.

Our trip to Tijuana was legendary. Not for what happened while there. In fact, I have no recollection of that. It is famous for what happened right before hand. Because it was the second day for our two Spanish roommates and that afternoon was to be the first of many hilarious stories about one of them.

During the day we gradually got more and more excited about going to Tijuana. We were newbies and had no idea what we were going to do there, but the newness was exciting. We were all dressed up, getting some dinner together, when Jorge* came upstairs.

"I can't go," he said in Spanish. "I can't find my passport. In fact, I really have to go back to the library. I have to go back and see if I left a few books there. Maybe it is where my passport was. Because I had it today to make a photocopy and then I can't remember if I brought it back or maybe I left it. Oh, my god! It is going to be stolen, won't it? Where do I have to go to get a new one? I shouldn't even bother going to the library. But I should go in case, right? But it won't be there. Someone already stole it."

  He rambled a bit longer until I practically dragged him out to my car and told him to get in. I heard him say thank you about 100 times before we drove the five minute drive to campus. I hadn't stopped the car yet before he flew through the door and ran Bolt style down the campus sidewalk. I stood outside, leaning against my cool, grey Ford Taurus, wishing I could afford said campus for about ten minutes before I saw Jorge coming towards me with a HUGE smile on his face. Exactly at the place where he left his books was his passport AND.....the envelope of scholarship money he had not yet noticed losing.

My jaw dropped to the floor. Holy cow, who is this guy? I thought.

We told the hilarious story to our roommates and while they laughed they were more anxious that Jorge get ready more than anything. Stories could be told in the car ON THE WAY TO TIJUANA.

Ten minutes later Jorge comes back upstairs. This time dressed, but says the same thing, "I can't go."

"Why not?" asks Principe.

"I lost my passport again. I know it is in my room, but with all the unpacking I have to do I can't find it!"

We ended up going without him. He ended up finding his passport two days later and giving it to the rather responsible Spanish roommate whom we ended up dubbing "Abuelo" (grandpa). And he never lost it again that entire year!
Our San Diego roommates....and a few friends!




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