Uneventful
February 06, 2006
After an uneventful 16 hour flight from Korea (unless you count the turbulence that caused me to nearly vomit, or that time that I put a death grip on Roger's thigh that forced him to peel each finger off of his leg fifteen minutes AFTER we were flying smoothly again, and unless you count those in-flight meals that resulted in a five-pound weight loss, but as a snack I did get sticky rice with a beef jerky-like center wrapped in crunchy, salty seaweed, which I loved, A LOT, so there's that, and unless you count the half-hour descent toward Dallas that made me yawn one hundred forty eight times in an effort to adjust the pressure in my ears, but the little baby two rows behind us hadn't yet figured out the yawning-thing, or the pinching of his nose and blowing-thing, and so he cried for twenty five of those thirty minutes, and vomited for the last five, which scent then resulted in my gagging and near-vomiting again before I covered my face with the Korean Air-issued blanket, through which I was very carefully breathing), we arrived at DFW alive. What was I saying, again? Uneventful? Yes, mostly. Until we got to Customs, that is.
Coming through Immigrations was supposed to be easy. Except Roger and I purchased a wooden-inlaid chest in the Philippines, and had it wrapped in bubble wrap and then surrounded with styrofoam before it was boxed for the flight. So after we stood in line with oh, let's say THREE THOUSAND other people coming through Customs, for which Homeland Security decided only four people needed to work the booths, we finally were next in line. Standing, patiently, behind the yellow line.
The officer waved us forward, so we pushed our cart with our rather prominent box, and we pulled our luggage behind us as we approached him. He looked at us and said, "I see ya have a box."
Um, yes, Captain Obvious.
"Please proceed to Inspection Station One."
And so instead of bursting through the flapping doors to the open arms of our beloved country, we were sent to the Inspection Station with all the other box-toting, suspicious passengers. Stupid box.
While in line, we kept repeating, "I see ya have a box" to each other, laughing. Except no one else around us got the joke.
We stood in awe as two extremely overweight governmental workers in security uniforms inspected a Korean guy's luggage. And the lining of his coat. And his fleece hat. And then, once a translator arrived, asked him why he looked so nervous. Roger and I glanced at each other incredulously, because, HELLO! This guy is in a foreign country, from the looks of it for the first time, he doesn't speak English, he's being detained by the United States, and, oh yeah, two fat men are going through all his stuff asking him questions like, "Why aren't you wearing your hat?- and "Why is there a mirror in your carry-on?" Should I find myself in his same circumstance, I'm sure I wouldn't be intimidated or nervous either.
And then they whisked him away for a body cavity search, just to make sure, since they couldn't find any residue on his mirror, or anything in his coat lining or pinned inside his toboggan or inside the non-existent false bottom of his carry-on. And I know they were just doing their job and all, and for all I know they had a very promising tip-off, but I felt a tiny bit indignant for him when they brought the Korean man back, and apologized, saying, "Sorry man, you just looked nervous and suspicious." Then they knocked fists with him, like straight out of a 50-Cent music video. You know what I'm talking about right? Where guys try to be macho and they knock their fists together? I'm sure you know. Don't make me draw a picture. Okay, okay. Fine. But only because you love it.
So when we finally got to the front of the line, we were questioned about our box, and our trip, and after being questioned Roger tells the Investigator that we were in Manila on vacation, and when she asked WHY THE PHILIPPINES, Roger told her it was because he was "born there a long time ago." Which got all of us laughing, because, Ha! You mean it was a long time ago? And so she thought we were funny and just let us go through, which made us look like The White People Who Just Got To Walk On Through Instead Of Have Our Bags Torn Apart by Homeland Security. Talk about preferential treatment. After watching everyone else go through it, I was kind of looking forward to an interrogation.
In retrospect, yeah, I guess the return home was relatively uneventful. For us, at least.
