Good Cop, Bad Cop on a boarder crossing
By
Mark O’Donnell
Thursday 14th June 2007
I hate flying. Not a correct statement, but a statement all the less. What I hate is the trapped boredom. Fixed in place, stuck, no computer, no remote, and no freedom.
Ok so it gets you there quickly, fine. Then you land, then you grab your bags, then you stand in queue. Then you meet customs.
8 hours of flying followed by 10 minutes of grilling if your lucky. Only if.
The green card, your one and only chance to impress that customs officer. And of course you always find the good cop, bad cop next to each other.
First time, forgot to sign the back of the card. Well very sorry says I. The blank reply. ‘You wont give an apology. You will correct it. Go back over there.” He pointed back to beyond the line.
The thought crossed my mind we would have to go back to Manchester. A quick fix, signed and dated, then look for the good cop.
Thank whatever god of travel you like, but good cop was right next to bad. A smile, at last, “Welcome to the USA.” Or welcome back for some. Finally allowed to step past that line, only to meet the next pair.
Customs round two. Bags down, coats off, jumper off, shoes off and still I ended up bleeping. It’s the belt. Back you go belt off try again. Almost stripped but finally allowed to step past that line. But no, this time the good cop pulls us over. From my bag they produce two water bottles.
What deadly danger did this Manchester airport water pose this great country? Cute they maybe, but travel any further. No chance.
So finally, well for this airport any ways, we stepped past that line, that magical myth and onwards into well just onwards really.
Good cop, bad cop on a boarder crossing. You truly can’t beat them.
