Things Can Only Get Better (3)

Continuation from Things Can Only Get Better (2) …

In front of me, there were two young ladies. I suppose they were new to this as well. They both walked up to the passport officer, only to be sternly reprimanded. Maybe I was standing in the wrong line; the passport officer to the right was smiling at least. When it was my turn to step forward, I knew exactly what I was going to say. I was going to say, “Hello” and hand over my passport, roll my thumbs across the scanner and tell him, I was on my way to spend a pleasant vacation with friends. That’s what I was supposed to say. He took my passport and checked it out, told me to roll my thumbs…so far, so good. Then he asked me why I was entering America. The reply was there, somewhere deep in the back of my mind. Getting it to reach my mouth and his ears though, was a different story all together. Words just wouldn’t come out, remained lodged within the recesses of my head. I kind of mumbled, handed him the letter Rosie had written, the one I wasn’t supposed to show unless I thought it absolutely necessary. He took the letter, read it through, paused; looked me up and down. I really felt so stupid. He let me through though. I had made it!

I went to pick up my suitcase. Ah, but here comes the fun part of the story. My suitcase was large; a little too big perhaps. I knew I would need an enormous suitcase in order to bring everything home. However, Rosie had clothes in America waiting for me and I certainly didn’t need to take clothes with me. I waited for my suitcase, picked it up and turned to leave and…oops, there were two more guards waiting to check me out! Now, I’m not the skinniest guy in the world, but they knew full well, I wouldn’t be able to lift that suitcase the way I did had it been full. The truth behind the tale of the suitcase is that it had a few clothing items in it, items that I wanted to hand over to Good Will. To the left stood a white guard and to the right a black guard. The black guard smiled so brightly, looked at his fellow guard and then at me again. “Looks like that suitcase is empty,” he said softly. And how did I reply? “Yes, it is pretty much.” What was I thinking? I explained the situation, gave them both business cards, told them about the 2010 fiasco, that I had clothes waiting for me in America, had dollars in my pocket, an address in America, etc. They genuinely took an interest in me, much to my relief.

Just as I was about to go through the departure gates, the white guard called me back. “There’s a woman out there, jumping about like crazy. She’s not waiting for you, is she?” I just smiled like a contented Cheshire cat and entered America!

Until next time