The Flight
My usual Just-In-Time management philosophy had been ditched for this trip; I had packed a whole day in advance, booked a cab over 12 hours before departure, utilised Virgin’s online check-in process and also decided to get to Heathrow a good 3 hours before the flight. Lucky I thought, because after dropping my bags off I went upstairs in T3 to get through security and realised the queue stretched past the whole concourse of the shops in departures and straight round the corner backing into arrivals, probably totalling about 200m!
Anyway, patiently got in, a quick stop for a sandwich and then onto the flight. I have to say for the whole flying “experience”, Virgin are definitely streets ahead of any other airline I have flown on, especially for us commoners that travel with the cattle in economy. Swift check-in, pleasant staff, movies, music & games on demand (ability to pause have a snooze and come back to complete), and overall great service. The only downer was that we had some pl0nker that decided not to get onto the flight and we got delayed by 30mins as the person’s luggage was taken off - I was running on a tight-ish schedule, just over 2hours between transfers from Miami to get to Jacksonville, hence a little blow.
The US Customs
Having got off the plane with the customary Virgin satisfied smile, I was hit with a long line at US customs in Miami. I navigated myself to what I thought was the shortest queue but as per usual this turned out to take the longest - ‘sod’ and me are very good friends. As the time ticked by, I only had an hour left till the Jax flight left, sought help from a local security person who intimated that I had “plenty of time”. Finally with about 30mins to spare, I reached the front desk and cue the rudimentary questions, “Where y’all from”, “What ch’all doing here”, “How long y’all planning to stay”. As this chap, hired to look after security for this ‘great’ nation, struggled to master the keyboard with just his index finger, I continued to get panicky about making my connector and being late for the conference.
As the computer caught up with this guy, he asked the money question “Where y’all from originally” and “Where y’all parents from” - I could see the alarm bells ringing, the confusion, the panic - thoughts of what is the protocol, when I gave him the answer P-A-K-I-S-T-A-N. After noticing a big bright red light flashing above my head, kinda like when I used to work at Sainsbury’s and had to buzz the checkout supervisor because a product didn’t have it’s barcode/price on it and that I would need assistance, a chap swaggered up, nonchalant, with a corset type belt holding not only his gun but also keeping his donut ringed belly in check. The original monkey advised me that he could not “process” me and I had to follow this other guy. Okay, connector gone.
The Waiting Room
Donut man asked me to walk ahead of him, where I don’t know but all I heard was “keep going”, straight, left, right to a booth at the side, where? “Just keep on going straight son”. In fact by the way that I was promptly ‘escorted’, I automatically felt that I had committed a crime. “Stop”, I felt “freeze!” would have been more appropriate for him to say. “Go on through there son”. I looked around and noticed a handle on this discrete frosted glass door, I pulled, it was locked and subsequently made a lot of noise when I tried to yank it open. My shadow, decided at this point he would put his best wise guy look on and said “look y’all pull it softly and it opens”. The fact that he knew that it was security locked and someone had to press the button to release it had nothing to do with, what a repr0bate!
In this concealed room there were all sorts, Hispanics, Mexicans, Indians, Muslims, Cubans, even Americans but all those that fit into the previous categories.
The Interview
And so I waited, looking at people coming and going, so I got chatting to this one chap that looked completely out of place, a Caucasian American. Turns out he was on his way back from the Domican Republic and he enlightened me of where to go etc. I could see he noticed from my accent that I wasn’t local so before he could call me Australian, I said I was English. As he continued his story of his hols he attempted to bridge the virtual divide that is the Atlantic between our two great nations by saying “you should go there, you’d love it and you know what is the best thing, they love the dollar and also the “Euro dollar”. Quality, he said this with such panache I struggled to keep a straight face.
So finally my name was called for the interview.
“Where y’all from?”
Look at the form that I have filled out - “London”
“Why y’all here?”
See previous answer - “Business conference”
“A what?”
You’re struggling with my accent - “A conference for work”
“What ch’all do?”
Does it matter - “Management consultant”
“What’s that?”
If I spent the time explaining would you really pretend to understand, actually I am going to use the lowest common denominator - “I work in Computers”
“First time to the US?”
Check my passport you will see other stamps - “Was here 6 months ago and have been visiting the US for the last 20 years”
“Where y’all parents from?”
Change of topic then, also this sounds a familiar route of questioning…deja vous even - “England”
“But ch’all don’t look English, where they from originally?”
I know, I was just playing - “Pakistan”
“Oh”
Is there a problem - “Yep”
“When did you last go there?”
I can see where this is going, Big Brother et all - “1984”
“What do y’all remember from y’all visit?”
About as much as you can remember when you were 6 years old or indeed over 20 years ago - “Not much, I was young, 6 in fact”
“Where did y’all visit when y’all were in Pakistan?”
See previous answer, and no I didn’t go to any madr@s’s - “Can’t remember, family, sites I suppose”
“Why y’all here?”
Were you paying attention, did you read the form or listen to any of my answers - “Business”
“Got any ID or proof”
What would you like, take your pick - “I’ve got hotel booking confirmation, flight transfer booking, conference email, conference glossy, business card…is that okay?”
“I will need to verify this”
This is going to take longer, I obviously haven’t convinced you - “Okay”
“You will need to go back in to the main room, I need to run a check on this, I am going to send your information to DC, someone there will need to check this out and then they will need to send a report back here and then we can update you”
Sounds like a methodical process - “How long do think this will take?”
“I can’t say, can take 10 mins or you could be here for an hour or so”
With technology et all this shouldn’t take long right (?) - “Okay”
2.5 hours later I was allowed to leave. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate that due to the current world affairs (i.e. B&B’s ‘global’ political agenda), there may be some additional rigmarole and hoops that I may need to go through but this seemed a little over the top. I thought that I would ask a couple of questions when I left…
“So was I stopped because I have a Muslim name, have a British passport and Ali as my surname?”
“Can’t say but you can work it out for yourself”
“What information did you find out??”
“Can’t say, that’s confidential”
He added…“I can’t guarantee that you will not get stopped on future visits, please allow sufficient time for connectors”.
The Transfer
So I had missed my 17:50 flight, and was rushing to get on the 20.35, checked luggage in and dashed across to get on. Through airport security, the queue was long, real long and full of Sunday night travellers (the thought of Blighty 18 hours ago crossed my mind). I went up to a security person and explained that my flight was going to leave in 40mins, so I was ushered to a ‘quicker’ queue. This “express” lane which at first seemed to be very fast but when I had got to the front, they were putting people through additional checks, machines etc. I had to walk through this other machine, was interrogated, bags opened up etc. However, one slight problem, I put my bags on the machine and it broke; I didn’t cause it but I tried to recall whether I had recently broken a mirror, run over a cat or indeed walked under a ladder, no.
It took 8 people all crowded around the x-ray machine to try and understand what the problem was whilst the ‘express’ queue got longer. No one bothered to open up the parallel machine on the other side, which was not being used; they all just prodded, pointed and poked the machine – m0nkeys at a tea party. One guy behind me hollered “can’t y’all just open up another lane?” Eureka. Some consensus was reached and they made it so. So I finally got to the gate and yes it was the furthest possible and I was told the plane was full, I was only on standby. Eventually, with no energy to complain, actually I don’t think anyone would have listened; I made my way outside to get a cab to a hotel.
In the end it took me about 40 hours, door-to-door to arrive in Jacksonville - a robe, some slippers and a big bed were waiting for me in the Ritz-Carlton, Amelia Island, “lucky” eh? I got out the shower and pontificated about journey; it was at that point I recalled a British newspaper headline in 2004 when Bush got re-elected for a 2nd term “How can 54,095,461* Americans be so stup1d?” - which just about summed it up.
(* It was definitely 54m but couldn’t verify the rest!)
