Ten years ago, in my first job after graduation, I shared an office with a guy called Munir who I nicknamed Dr^2 because he not only had a PhD but was also qualified as a medical doctor. (I recognise it’s not the wittiest name in the world but it was the best I could do at the time.)
Munir loved learning British colloquialisms (“armchair critic”, “fairweather friend”), played loud Arabic music while he worked and held a Jordanian passport. One day, he came into work clearly frustrated and announced that he was giving up on travelling. Stationed in the UK for three years, he thought he would have a great opportunity to see Europe while he was here. Alas, his passport was so restrictive that securing visas became distinctly Sisyphean. He as a doctor (twice over) had fewer rights than I did as a new grad just because of our passports.
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