ID, please

‘Just because a man was born in a stable it doesn’t mean he is a horse.’
— The Duke of Wellington, on being claimed by the Irish for his Dublin birth.

At Stansted airport, the woman at the Ryanair check-in desk asked to see my visa. Dopily, I flicked to the back of the passport to show her my precious H1-B.
    ‘No, this is for America. Where’s your visa for Ireland?’
I was stumped.
    ’I don’t need one. I’m Irish.’
    ‘No, you’re not. It says you’re Zambian.’
    ‘No, I’m not. It says I was born there, that’s all. I’m an Irish citizen.’
    ‘Well, do you have proof of that? I can’t let you board the plane without proof.’
My gears turned slowly. Then a brainwave:
   ‘Um, it says on the front cover that that’s an Irish passport.’
    ‘Okay then. That’ll do.’

I thanked her.

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