Custom Conversation
UK customs officer: Can I see your return ticket?
Me, suddenly sent into a blind panic worsened by severe sleep deprivation: Return ticket? Um, it’s ticketless travel…
Customs officer: Surely you printed out the itinerary.
Me: Um. [digging madly through my coat pockets, bag pockets, everything]. There’s… this. Oh crap, it only has this leg.
Customs officer: When is your return flight?
Me: January 8.
Customs officer: What time?
Me: 4:30pm.
Customs officer: What flight?
Me: Uh. It’s on American? I don’t know the flight number.
Customs officer, looking at the printed itinerary, and then looking at me as though I’m the biggest dolt to pass through Border Control: Your return flight is right here.
Me: *wipes sweat from brow*
Customs officer, examining printed itinerary more closely: Who is [dad's name]?
Me: That’s my dad. The ticket was purchased on his frequent flyer miles.
Customs officer: Fair enough.
He looks at my landing card, on which I’ve identified my profession as ‘writer.’
Customs officer, smarmily: So your dad had to buy you the ticket because you’re a struggling writer and can’t make any money?
After a few more questions about the nationality of the friends (British) I was visiting and how I met them (at Oxford), he said, “we’ll take that, then. Go on.”
And now I’m at a kitchen table in southwest London looking out at a lovely garden and drinking tea. Life is good.
Posted 9 December 2009
1 Comment(s)
Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI
Leave a comment
yay! i was hoping you’d blog from across the pond!