Borderline Insanity

Ok, rookie mistake number one.  I shouldn’t have got hypnotized by the clouds, I should have gone pee.  But hey, I decided to go pee as soon as I got off the plane.  Quick zip, whip it out, szszszszszs and zip up.  Fast-fast.

But that time made me at the end of the customs line, a line with about a billion people and only 4 customs clerks interviewing people.  ACK!!!!!

But hey, it’s vacation.  I stood there thinking of clouds and showgirls when I noticed, out of the corner of my little Kanadian eye that everyone seemed to have a little piece of blue paper.


Overhead, a nice voice boomed that we had better have all our documentation or it’s our ass.  I, of course, had not filled out ANY documentation.  I asked the nice Kanadianz in front of me if I should have got a form from somewhere.  They said, yes, why yes, I should have.  The stewardess came around, they said.  What were you doing, like staring at the clouds?

So I asked them to hold my place and got a form, the correct one, I hoped.  I filled it out in line then waited and waited and waited as the line crawled forward.  People lived and died in that line, babies were born and raised to adulthood, my hair turned white and skin wrinkled.

And then, finally, FINALLY, I was shunted to the line-up in front of the customs agent.

Only to find there was no custom agent.

I shit you not.

It was a line with no one at the precessing station.

A lovely looking black girl tried to point this out but the directing custom agent said someone would be back soon.  He told us we weren’t allowed to leave the line.


The other lines moved.  The people in our line shifted from foot to foot and shot murderous glances at the other people in moving lines.  Then someone showed up and we advanced.

But wait, just as I was 2nd in this line, that same line director came by and said I had to move to another line.  I said, in my best calm Kanadian voice, I’m only 2 away here, brother, it’s really close.

He said, sir, please move.  And put on his serious face.

So I moved.

To a line up with 3 people.

3 people.

At this point, you can either laugh or flip the fuck out.

I had to laugh.

Then, just as my turn came up, (Oh, yes, it’s hard to believe but read on…) some custom agent began to chat with my guy.  Like I wasn’t there.  Like everyone had been processed.  He came over to talk to my guy about a break.


If I had to get in one more line-up I was going to lose it, fuck a sense of humor, I was hungry, hot and about the last person in the entire airport (the actual last person was the nice Kanadian in front of me who had told me about the paperwork requirements.)

But then I was waved forward and the customs guy basically waved me through.

Now all I had to find was my luggage.

2 hours in line.

I’m sure it would still be there.



About Joe Cummings

Aquarius. Traveler. Gamer. Writer. A New Parent. 4 of these things are easy. One is not. But the journey is that much better for the new people in my life. A life I want to share with others, to help them, maybe, to make them feel less alone, sure, to connect with the greater world, absolutely.
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