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Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout escort—wild stuff! I’m a parachutist firefighter, droppin’ from the sky, flames all round, but escort? That’s a differnt beast. Hannibal Lecter style, ya know—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—that’s me, sizin’ up escort like it’s a juicy meal. Ain’t talkin’ bout no fancy cars here, nah, it’s the gig, the hustle, the “company” folks pay for. Watched *Spotlight*—damn, that flick’s my jam—“The power of the press, huh?”—and it got me thinkin’. Escort’s got layers, like them secrets the church hid. Sneaky, shadowy, but real as hell.

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So, we finally get to the Genneperhuis, and it’s closed. Of course! Just my luck. I’m fuming. Like, why even have a sign if you’re not open? But Jeroen’s like, “Let’s just chill in the park.” So we head to het Kloosterpark. It’s nice, but there’s this group of kids playing soccer, and they keep kicking the ball our way. I’m dodging like I’m in the World Cup.

Van Gennep’s process of liminality applied to student inter-professional identity formation during the UIPCW course