I flipped through the pages. The questions went on and on and on.

While I was occupied with the questionnaire/scissors, Pilot emerged from a doorway with demands for his job back.

"...IS THAT A CITIZENSHIP APPLICATION?!"

He screeched. He somehow must have noticed the citizenship papers I'd put down on the table amidst the time-worn "WHITEN YOUR TEETH" brochures.

"Ummm... no."

I replied, realizing that if Pilot took the papers away I'd likely never see my gun again.

Pilot shouted, suddenly lurching forward towards the papers.

"Stay back! These scissors are very sharp!" I cried out.

"I will... uhhh... give you a very bad haircut!"

I sounded like a fool.