And Then, 'Papers Please'….

I be back. I walked out of the airport with a spring in my step despite the cold. Cold it was, and bright with sparkly snow. Was the sparkly snow the cause of the springy step thingy? No, immigration it was what sprung my step. Transcript below. With no comedic additions.

It was my turn and approached the immigration person and dutifully handed over my passport.

“Good morning Sir.” He said.
“Good morning Sir to you too.” I replied politely.
“Where have you been?” He inquired.
“As you look through my passport, which I believe you'll find is part of you job description, you’ll see where I’ve been.”
“Right, so, you’re back now then?”
“You’re Spot on there!! Well observed immigration imbec.... good passport perusing person.”

That was that then.

Not quite.

Waiting behind the two immigration booths were police persons doing random passenger stuff, it been a quiet day on the crime front. I'd noted, while forming an orderly queue, that if randomly stopped, the delay in continuing to move onward and outward seemed considerable.

Guess what, possibly due to my conversation with the passport guy, I became randomised.

“Excuse me Sir, could you step to one side?”
“I can do that. To which of my two sides should I step?”
“Can I see your passport?”
“That you can. Here it be.”
“Where have you been?”
“Tell you what. You’ll find the information in that little book I just gave you, or, and this is a doozy, you could ask the immigration guy. Like you're working together?”
“Right. What were you doing there?”
“Where?”
“Where you’ve been.”
“Bit o’ this, bit o’ that.”
“What were you doing there, work or holiday?”
“Bit o’ this, bit o’ that.”
“Pleas answer the question.”
“No. Why do you need to know?”
“We like to get information about countries from travellers.”
“But you’ve only asked me about me, so let’s do it this way. Assuming I’m not under caution, can I have my passport back please?”
“Here.” Thrusting, glowering.
“Thank you. Bu-by.” Springy stepped.

I proceeded to the baggage roundabout and after a while I had that exhilarating moment you get when you see that your bag has managed to follow you all the way home.

As I headed to the exit door, I glanced back and guess what. The guy stopped at the same time as me, by the other police person behind the other passport person, was still in the process of taking his cloths off to bear his soul as I departed.

An incredibly small victory. A victory non-the-less. As the good Captain never tires of telling us, ‘no’ can be a magical word.

Quote; Julie Burchill.

“It's been said that a pretty face is a passport. But it's not, it's a visa, and it runs out fast.”