Mr. B. has a very strange disorder. It's called forgetfulness. No, it's not the disease as described by Alois Alzheimer in 1906. Since he was small, he has been known to misplace things and not being able to find them after he deliberately tried to remember where he kept them when he did. Everyone in the family knew about this. He does remember a lot of insignificant details from his childhood but don't ask him what he had for lunch yesterday, it will take him awhile to recall.
He couldn't pick a better time to lose his passport as we shall be traveling tomorrow. The unfunny thing is that we just came back from a trip so the passport should not be far away.
"I think it's in your backpack, Mr. B." I told him before he became hysterical. "That's where you keep all your travel documents. I bet you still haven't remove your passport from that backpack since we came back a week ago."
Eureka moment. He found his passport thanks to me, so he place it where he would not forget it tomorrow morning before we leave the house.
"Now where on Earth is my citizen ID?" he started pacing the floor again. "I forgot where I place them a year ago."
"A year ago?" I sensed something bad coming. "And you are looking for it now?"
"Well, I need it tomorrow, don't I?" he said calmly as his started digging into his closet drawers. "It must be somewhere here... I am very sure of that."
It "sure" took Mr. B. the whole afternoon to look in places he was "sure" he kept his ID in. In the process, he was able to discover bottles of cologne from Christmases ago that he never used (he never knew where they were), branded toiletries he bought from New York that never seen the light of the day since they never came out of the boxes, a copy of Le Cordon Bleu's "The Chef's Bible" ("Look, Becker, I never knew I had a copy of this! Was this a gift too?").
It was early evening by the time Mr. B. found his ID. Another Eureka moment. So Mr. B., D., and I were able to relax and finally had dinner and D. brought out a big strawberry mousse birthday cake to celebrate Mr. B.'s birthday. He blew the candle, cut the cake and we all enjoyed a big piece each before D. finally said goodbye.
Mr. B. went back to packing his luggage and place his ID in the backpack he shall be carrying tomorrow.
"Where is my passport?"
"I can't find my passport! Where did I place them this afternoon?"
"Please tell me you are kidding, Mr. B."
"No! I can't find it! I am serious!"
PS: It's past midnight. As of this writing, Mr. B. is still running around looking for his passport. Isn't fact really stranger than fiction?