Paperclips

You know it's going to be a good week when your attorney wanders out on a Friday afternoon and asks: "So . . . what do they wear in Saudi Arabia?"

Thus began a week long effort to prep my attorney for a "pop" trip to Saudi. Insert a flurry of activity regarding visas, passports, and research into the cultural and political background of Saudi Arabia. I must admit that I did not do the bulk of the work - and I owe a thousand thank yous the the lady in our home office who assisted with travel arrangements and the bulk of the paperwork for the visas and passports. Still, I have learned much this past week - including the following:

In order to get a visa to go to Saudi Arabia, you must sign a letter that the embassy informally calls a "death letter." It informs the traveler that you should not (note: not cannot - SHOULD NOT) bring in intoxicating substances, pornographic materials, or narcotics. Especially the narcotics. The letter is a legal document giving permission to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to put you to death. EEK!

You can import any dog you would like, as long as the paperwork lists them as a "guard dog" or "hunting dog." Hmmmm . . . what the heck do you put for a yorkie?

Listening to music in public is forbidden.

Dress conservatively. If you do not dress conservatively, either the religious police or random individuals may choose to chase you and throw rocks at you.

Speaking to anyone of the opposite sex, to whom you are unrelated, is forbidden.

The Department of State has a section titled "Adoptions and Abductions." I call it: what to do if you take one of our kids and what to do if we take one of yours. EEK!

I never ever ever want to go there. Which is good. Because they have a lot of language explaining that they don't want you there, and under no circumstances are you allowed to stay there. As a matter of fact, your employer must prove that they are providing you enough money that you will be adequately cared for and will not become destitute and dependent upon the government of Saudi Arabia.

I repeat: EEK!

And then came the adrenaline spikes as all the little glitches and hitches in our carefully laid out plans came to light. Thanks to a hearing in another state, we had to arrange a series of improbable flights - connections that would probably be missed, planes that may or may not be delayed, and for the final leg to Washington DC, we had my attorney flying into one airport with only three hours to get his baggage, meet up with the car service, drive like a bat out of heck to a second airport, and check in and catch his international flight to Kuwait. I told him he better pray for perfect weather.

Tornadoes and flooding in D.C. on his day of departure. No, I'm not kidding.

We finally find an alternate flight path that will eliminate 80% of the fuss and hassle listed above (and I had been hovering at my desk, eating some leftover Chinese and waiting for my attorney's phone calls). At last, the phone rang. My attorney was at the airline counter (I'll be nice and not mention their name), and he calls me, and says "Umm . . . the lady working the ticket counter just informed me that these are not my actual tickets. Even though they look like tickets, they are actually the receipts, and I don't have my ticket for Kuwait."

I can honestly say that was the highest adrenaline spike I have had in five years of working as a legal secretary.

I begin frantically tearing through every piece of paper on my desk. Paperclips are flying. I'm throwing envelopes on the ledges and on the floor - anywhere to get them out of my way. I know, deep inside, that I triple checked that package - that the ticket has to be with my attorney.

Then I hear the lady at the ticket counter in the background, through my attorney's cell phone. "Oh. . . never mind. It's right here. It was stapled out of order." IT WAS STAPLED OUT OF ORDER? She didn't look at all eight tickets before they called me!!??? Ms. Ticket Lady is lucky she was in another state. Nonplussed, my attorney said "I'll call you back," and hung up. My nerves were so jangled, I was shaking. I decided it would be best to finish my lunch and then leave the office for a while. I turned back to my Chinese.

There was a paperclip in the middle of my plate. A paperclip.

I haven't laughed that hard in years.