Bureaucracy in Action

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   {{#ifeq: Lloyd Brunnel | || 
     Author: Lloyd Brunnel  
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     Author: Lloyd |
     Author: Lloyd  
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     Authors: Lloyd Brunnel 
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   {{#ifeq: Lloyd Brunnel | |
     Authors: Lloyd |
     Author: Lloyd 
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I’m not really a big fan of government institutions. People mindlessly milling away with their ‘protocols’ and ‘procedure’ don’t really match my idea of a good time, so I tend to try and think up ways to make these bureaucrats’ lives just a little more… interesting. Two months ago for example, I filled out my tax forms in Roman numerals, just to give those egg-heads in Canadian Customs and Revenues something to fuss over. This time, it was my passport renewal, and I had just the thing in mind. Instead of a normal, drab photo, I was going to provide something a bit more entertaining. Last Halloween a friend had taken a normal pic of me and turned it into a werewolf, and it was this I intended to send in with my renewal forms. I snickered to myself as I packaged my little prank together and mailed it in.

Eight weeks later I was going through my mail and was elated to find that my passport had finally arrived. I took it out and let out a burst of laughter when I saw the photo: those stooges had actually printed my werewolf picture in the passport; ‘government in action’ indeed! Leaving the passport on the counter, I headed over to my computer to look up directions to the closest airport; no way was I going to miss out on a chance to use this thing.

After printing out the airport directions I walked back over to the counter and picked up my passport, turning it over a few times. I’m pretty sure that there was something important about it, but it seemed normal enough to me. I scratched the tip of my muzzle absently; I knew there was something special about the photo but I couldn’t remember what. The thought that the picture was wrong briefly crossed my mind, but I dismissed it since the pic was obviously of myself. Besides, passports are a means of identification, there’s no point in using a picture that isn’t yours. I turned the passport over a few more times in my paws before putting it back down on the counter and heading back to the computer. Tail wagging, I chuckled a bit to myself at how foolish I had been to look up airport directions before even deciding where I wanted to go. {{#ifeq:Animal | | | }}{{#ifeq:Anthro | | | }}{{#ifeq:Wolf | | | }}