(By Russell)
We were escorted to the US 'Admissibility Review Area'. We waited and waited. US Border Control officers were busy 'interviewing' dodgy looking characters. Come on, you expect me to believe that? A look of concern, or was it terror, was etched across the face of the suspect. But I can explain...They were having none of it: Sure you can, said a sceptical, stoney-faced type. A couple of heavies stood nearby waiting to apply more effective interview 'techniques'.
The following is based on a true story.
So there we were attempting to gain entry to the US of A through Uncle Sam's pre-clearance facility at Dublin Airport on the pretence of attending a country music festival in Wisconsin. Shoes off, keys, mobiles, all scanned, now to get past US Border Control...
Fingerprints...check, perfunctory questions: Reason for visit? Trying to be nonchalant, sounding casual: Attending a country music festival in Wisconsin. Did it sound convincing? You're clear to go through, sir. Yeah, the sap bought it! My travelling companion approached the security checkpoint. Same drill, not quite the same result. Fingerprints...Ah, one moment ma'am! Damn, they were onto us! Come this way, ma'am. My companion protested: What's wrong? I'm going to a country music festival. I'm innocent. They weren't buying it. She was looking at a stretch of ten to fifteen in San Quentin.
We were escorted to the US 'Admissibility Review Area'. We waited and waited. US Border Control officers were busy 'interviewing' dodgy looking characters. Come on, you expect me to believe that? A look of concern, or was it terror, was etched across the face of the suspect. But I can explain...They were having none of it: Sure you can, said a sceptical, stoney-faced type. A couple of heavies stood nearby waiting to apply more effective interview 'techniques'.
My companion was called to the desk. Okay, ma'am. Your prints don't match those on our database. How do you figure that? Stay cool, baby! I...I can't understand it said my companion. Sure, you don't said the stoney-faced one. Things were looking bad. The stoney-faced one went over to whisper something into the ear of the heavies. They looked like specialists in bespoke cement overcoats. Then, out of the blue: You're free to go, ma'am. Enjoy your trip to the US. I sure do love that country music, ma'am!
Perhaps we'll never know why or how we were sent on our way. We exited via a side door. No pictures! (see photo). Little did they know we were heading to a jazz festival!
Russell
No comments :
Post a Comment