One thing I was not looking forward to on my return to sunny Hatfield was having to get a new student I.D. card. Unlike most student cards, our's are pointless. They have no expiry date therefore most places will not take them. They have practically no use unless you go to the gym, where it acts as an entry card. However, unless you touch it on a small plastic pad at the start of term, your student loan ain't comin' at ya'. So I had to make the trip to get a new one.
It started ok. I walked into the I.D. office and began queuing. Apparently we get charged £20 for a replacement, but if we say it was stolen, it is free. Therefore, I decided I would simply lie. Fantastic.
"Yeah, my I.D. card got stolen over the summer" I whimpered (in a manly way)
"Have you got the crime identification number?"
"Erm...no...because...it happened when I was in Belize"
Quite why I chose the small Central American country previously known as British Honduras as my fake holiday destination escapes me. I mean, I couldn't even make up a reason. In fact, the more I think about it, Belize? Really, Jack?
"You were in Belize? And they stole your student card?"
"And my wallet!" I said, holding my wallet.
"Well, I should charge you, as there isn't any proof..."
Now, as she began to weigh up her options, I should have kept quiet. Maybe she'd just give in and say yes, here's a fresh card. But no. I had to make things worse. I looked at her, dead in the eyes, with a look of pure honesty and said:
"Please, Belize me!"
They say a picture can say 1000 words. The picture of her face said one thing. Pay up.
Over and out.