Okay, the last word on dual citizenship... for now

Yesterday I brought my working overseas rant to Casa de Luz, and whipped it out while I aimlessly swept macrobiotic dust across the floor. Nick, who used to live at Royal Co-Op while I was a boarder, was the manager on duty. He listened passively with the usual head-nods and "uh-huhs" while I told him about living in Prague, accidentally having two American passports, and so on.

Then I got to the sob story about how I probably wasn't going to be a dual citizen in time for Prague, and he screamed, "WHAT?!" It wasn't just an exclamation. It was an honest to goodness scream. It was so startling, our painting of the ever-placid macrobiotic guru George Ohsawa turned pale as a ghost, his hair sticking up everywhere, his eyes looking damn near sanpaku. Nick chewed some imaginary brown rice, calmed down, and then asked, "You've got the hook-up?" Turns out he's so desperate to be EU-ropean, he's planning to marry anyone who's continental and willing and live with her for a few years just so he can leave the U.S. So I guess there are worse things than delayed dual citizenship. I could just not qualify at all, like half of America.

Then again, there's at least one stiff-upper-lipped Queen-suckling pansy-crotched bureaucrat in England who thinks I shouldn't get it. Yesterday I emailed the British passport service to see if I would be better off applying from the U.S. or the Czech Republic, explaining that I was going to be in Prague soon and wanted to be able to work there more easily, so what would be the quickest way? Man, did that ruffle some feathers, to put it mildly. The way "Sir Alax III, Vice Consul" responded, I may well have made the entire Kingdom of Briton past and future cry with my flippant attitude. Surely the painting of Queen Mum that Alax gazes at reverently in times of trouble mustered a tear or two.

Here's part of his sniffling response: "I woould point out that British Citizenship and by it's virtue a Britsih passport are not simply flags of convenience  for those wishing to work overseas within the EU. If as you state, are entitled to British Citizenship then the United Kingdom will expect your loyalty. You will be expcted to take an oath of allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and an other pledging your loyalty to the United Kingdom to be a true citizen of the UK."

What's with British people who can't spell? Kidding, kidding, I worship the Brits. Sherlock Holmes has a posse, and it's me. Magna Carter in the house! Whoop-whoop! But still! I wanted to say, "Listen buddy, I'm a citizen of the whole damn world. Don't give me that crap about borders and nations and patriotism and loyalty. I only live in a country because I have to. And if I have a chance to multiply the number of countries I can live in, I'm going to take it. And I'm not going to construct any pretense about allegiance to the crown, finding my true roots, or any other such nonsense. Look, I would take a friggin BOOMERANG TO THE FACE for the Queen. Not because she's a queen, or because she lives in England. BECAUSE SHE'S A HUMAN BEING. Come on, Sir Alack III Esquire or whatever you call yourself. You and I, we aren't Americans. We aren't Brits. We're human beings. And you know those brown people you see when you go hunting elephants in Africa? They are human beings too. The pretentious fools you see in cafe's wearing berets and talking in funny accents? That's right. Humans. All of us are in this together. We are in a fight against God to sneak as many of us into heaven as possible. This bickering amongst ourselves, debating who can live in what country, and which royal figurehead to worship, just holds us back. SO GO TO HELL!"

Instead, I groveled. I reminisced about my two-week sojourn to England and Wales to see the house where my father was born, and how I felt I'd finally found my true home. I said I pledged my loyalty to the queen every day already, if not explicitly, then by my actions. "Without her," I confessed, "I would be living in a gutter, oppressed and bleeding to death. And probably German." I went on to describe, graphically, how badly I wanted to kiss the Queen's ring. "Please," I pleaded, "Please expedite my passport so I can look in the eyes of the Queen, my true mother, before she passes on to rule the spirits of her British subjects in the United Kingdom of Heaven. And then, when I finally join her in that sleepless Empire in the stars, I can truly say that my boundless love for our Royal Highness spans across worlds."

I made sure to throw in plenty of "colours" and "favourites" just to reinforce my Britishness. "Do you like Mr. Bean or Black Adder better," I asked at the end of the email. "Everyone says Black Adder, but I think Mr. Bean puts Rowan Atkinson's talents to better use. Remember when Mr. Bean went on vacation and he couldn't fit his pants in his suitcase, so he cut off the pant legs?" Always end an email with a question. It keeps the lines open.

I know, I know. The thing is, some of these foppish royal cannon fodder people have a lot of power, especially when they have numbers in their name. I don't want to rock the UK citizenship boat until I have it. Then, oh man, I'm going to be globetrotting, dancing through tax loopholes, and marrying untouchables, all the way to the bank!

Good luck in London, Nicole!