Smart Badge, Dumb Badge

I'm here to get my new Smart Badge for BFD. My employer, the Big Federal Department, has decreed that all employees must exchange their old Dumb Badges for spanking new Smart Badges, so here I am to make the exchange. But ...

"No," says the guard, shaking his head sadly. "This won't do."

"But this is my old Dumb Badge," I protest. "The one the Department told me to turn in so that I could get a spankin' new Smart Badge."

"Yes," replies the guard. "You need two forms of ID to get your new Smart Badge."

"And here's my driver's license for the second ID," I continue, plunking that item down in front of him. "Although I don't know why the Dumb Badge isn't sufficient, since I had to present two forms of ID to get it two months ago."

"The person who obtained that ID two months ago presented two authorized forms of ID at that time," explains the guard reasonably. "How are we to know, two months later, if you are the same person?"

"Because it has my picture on it?" I suggest.

"You could be a terrorist who forged that badge," says the guard, squinting at me hard.

"What about my driver's license?" I ask. "Is that ok?"

"Sure," he replies. "But it's only one piece of ID."

"But couldn't a terrorist have forged the driver's license?" I ask shamelessly.

"Of course not," he says. "It has your picture on it. Just show me a birth certificate ..."

"Which doesn't have a picture on it ...," I point out.

"... and we can get on with getting you your Smart Badge."

"But wait," I persist. "If I were a terrorist, I could already get in with my old Dumb Badge and create all kinds of havoc."

"But not nearly what you could do with a Smart Badge," he ripostes. "These things are smarter than you and me put together."

"Not to mention that the Department is making me do this," I object. "And made the appointment!"

"Look," says the guard with a long-suffering smile, "if you want to get a Sunday paper from HEB, what do you do?"

"Um, I give them three bucks," I reply.

"Will they let you trade in last week's paper for it?"

"Well, ... no, I guess not."

"Will they let you trade a couple of candy bars for it?" he continues.

"Guess not," I repeat.

"Well, there it is," he concludes. "This is like buying your Sunday paper. We give you the rules. If you want your paper, you follow them."

Curses, foiled again. Kidnapping the BFD geek was easy enough. Ditto, stealing his IDs. And I dumped the body where I'm sure no one will ever find it. Now, the plastic surgery was a little tricky, especially healing up in two weeks. That took all the evil genius ISIS could muster. But all my beautiful wickedness foundered, alas, on the bull-headed bureaucracy of BFD.