And so tHe PaNic bEgAn...

I covered my mouth...practically all of my composure sucked off me like the candy shell of a tootsie pop. I felt naked sitting there. Naked and small. I wasn't aware of anything at that moment. Not Sonny by my side, attmepting to coax a method of rectification from the stone hearted woman; not the eyes of the people behind us, blazing hatred for the hold up. All I could see was her face, unmoved, unchanged as we pleaded with her. Finally she took our IDs again and excused herself.

"Good. She'll fix this, I'm sure." Sonny did little to convince me, or himself I bet.

The woman reappeared and called us to the other side of the crowded room. I gathered up my things: my purse, my wallet, still open from my searching for some magical ID that doesn't exist...something to make it alright. God my stomach was tight. I swallowed a lump in my throat and slid into the small corner office, Sonny at my heels.

"How is everything, today?" the guy asked.

He was a twerpy looking guy. He had a red, thin neck, horn-rimmed glasses that he slid on and off his beak-like nose to read documents that were strewn on his desk. His hair was gray. No picture frames on his desk, but I spotted the gold band on his left hand and decided he might be humane enough to listen to us.

"Not good." I managed, although I felt like vomiting...right there at his desk. "We have a huge problem here. You see, we're getting married on Saturday. All our friends are flying in from out of town tomorrow for the ceremony. Tell us what we can do."

He maintained that my ID wasn't acceptable. Babbled on about how he would take it in a heartbeat, but it wasn't up to him. Rules were rules. I dropped my head in my hands, fought the wave of nausea and tears that sprang up on me. It was so hot in there, suddenly. I knew it was out of his hands...but that didn't stop the hatred of him from pouring off of me. From infecting me like a virus. I stood up, shoved my chair away with the back of my knees and marched away from his desk. He and Sonny were having a conversation, but I just need to kick somebody's ass. I needed someone to feel the pain and injustice that was impregnating my composure...forcing me to want to strike out.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .