breaking customs

Oh hi there, chickens!

Somehow, it’s already the middle of the week.

Please don’t ask me how that happened.

Yesterday, I found myself traipsing through five airports, and finally managed to get into my bed at around midnight or so, about 19 hours after leaving my house Tuesday morning.

So I guess that’s how that happened.

My meeting, which was the purpose of my mini-trip, went well, and all of my flights were on time, so really, what more could I ask for?

The low point of the trip actually came on my departure flight from the Ottowa airport, where I appeared to be the only person in Ottowa attempting to make her way back into the United States.

Which you would think would make things easier.

However, the line corrals at customs seemed to have no actual opening for an entrance, and so after looking around frustratingly for a way into the door, I finally ducked under a rope and headed in the door.

Where a displeased looking man asked me what was I doing, exactly?

Are you crew? He said, eyeing me suspiciously.

I assure you, chickadees, I am nowhere near official looking enough to be mistaken for someone who belongs in any sort of control of an airplane.

I explained that no, I was not crew, but I couldn’t figure out how to get in there, and I was very sorry.

He looked at me again.

So you just crawled under the barricade then.

I had assumed that was the only obviously conclusion, and yes, it sounded ridiculous, but I just nodded and mumbled an apology.

You really shouldn’t have done that, he said sternly. That line is for crew only.

I had caught onto that by this point, and apologized again, headed back through the door, and then finally found a legitimate door into customs through the (non-occupied) maze of a line.

When I entered the door, the very same man waved me over to the still empty customs window.

Where I kid you not, chicks, he gave me another lecture about my behavior.

I just don’t understand why you would do that.

Little does he know I don’t understand half of the things that I do on a daily basis.

I made one more attempt to explain myself, noting that there was no one to follow and the security employees hadn’t really been much help, since they’d just watched me perform a customs infraction.

He raised his eyebrows for the entirety of the passport stamping.

Luckily, he let me through, and now, two flights later, I’m back on my home turf.

Where I intend on staying for awhile.

Enjoy this one, chickens!


1 Comment

Filed under Near Disaster, Reflections

One response to “breaking customs

  1. For reasons like this, and for my pure laziness, I have perfected the innocent, “ohhhh…. I didn’t realize I couldn’t do that”. It usually works half the time. And really, that’s all I can ask for…

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