Customs and Morays
Alighting in America for the first time in two weeks, I was disappointed to find that instead of a red-carpet reception, I got the blue latex gloves. Apparently the first-line customs officer felt that 1)having no job this century, 2)travelling around the world and 3)giving vague answers to questions about one's income were sufficient grounds for secondary screening. Geez, where do they train these guys? Being the only one of three hundred on my flight to merit such attention, I had my pick of the secondi. Naturally, I gravitated to a young lady who was cute if a little short. Jetlagged, and having been up for 24 hours straight, I didn't have my default masher A-game on, but ...
After initial pleasantries, I heft my bags onto her work station, and then stand back a respectful distance at the podium.
"If you'd like, you can stand over here and watch to make sure I'm not stealing anything from your bags."
"I'm not worried; I don't think my clothes would fit you."
"What if my boyfriend is your size?"
"Then you are a very lucky woman indeed."
After that, the process went quite swimmingly.
After initial pleasantries, I heft my bags onto her work station, and then stand back a respectful distance at the podium.
"If you'd like, you can stand over here and watch to make sure I'm not stealing anything from your bags."
"I'm not worried; I don't think my clothes would fit you."
"What if my boyfriend is your size?"
"Then you are a very lucky woman indeed."
After that, the process went quite swimmingly.