She landed in Ontario at about seven o clock local time. Clad in jeans and a tee, a long overcoat in her hands, she made her way to the luggage console along with the rest of the passengers. Like some people get high blood pressure when in the presence of doctors, she dreaded immigration officers. Nay, phobic was the word. She and the folks. So maybe actually it was a genetic thing. Ever since she had been a little girl and her mum had taken her on a trip to London. Mum was hard of hearing and wore a hearing aid at all times. Not being allowed to carry batteries, she was without the aid at the critical time that we were clearing immigration. From past experience i knew that a deaf mother was an extremely nervous and irritable mother. But the poor immigration officer didn't. The conversation went something like this,
Custom officer :" Madam, do you have anything to declare ? "
Profusely sweating, her hands clammy, Mom muttered hoarsely, " No, your, er..er.. highness."
Custom officer (peering suspiciously at her) : "Are you trying to be funny."
My hard of hearing mum, " Yes, sir, its quite sunny." Then seeing his expression, she gestured vaguely, "Back there in India, sir."
Custom Officer : " All i want to know is, do you have anything to declare ? "
Mum, with a weary sigh, " How kind of you, yes, i could do with a chair. "
Custom officer ( gnashing his teeth) : PLEASE proceed to the exit.
By this time a long line of passengers were chafing impatiently behind her, and the officer, in his hurry to see her go, turns and trips over mum's ample bottom, bent to retrieve her case.
After the mass of officer, case and mum had been restored to their upright status, we proceeded, if a trifle sheepishly, towards the exit, the hapless officer, having hurriedly retreated to the rest room to avoid the sniggering mass of humanity in his wake.
With dad, she had gone to Jeddah for The ritual of Umrah, literally the mecca of muslim pilgrimage. Wearing 'ehraam' ( a set of two sheets covering the top and bottom half of the body, with nothing, and i mean NOTHING else ) would render any man irritable. My dad was the coolest, mildest person you ever knew. That is in normal circumstances. Add a custom officer, endless immigration lines, and an overtly cautious custom officer, flinging peoples' belongings around like confetti and the 'ehraam ? If, dear reader, you have been to the circus, and chanced to see the ringmaster free the lion, who then jumps on him and proceeds to run amok, you will know what i mean. He stormed to the head of the line, grabbed the bloke and proceeded to give him a verbal lashing, which fortunately for him was in English, not the officers' strong point. The man frowned, then struck his forehead in inspiration as he saw dad gesturing wildly and clutching onto the bottom half of his ehraam.The next thing she knew, her dad had been escorted to the nearest restroom, still protesting vigorously, while she and her mum went equally mad, thinking that he had been arrested.
To revert to the present, it was with beating, nay wildly beating heart that she made her way to the nearest line for immigration. As her turn neared, she was amazed to see the courtesy with which all the passengers were being handled by the officer. Breathing a sigh of relief, she surged ahead. Finally she stood, in front of the actually very good looking blonde man, the officer, who smiled a warm smile and wished her a "top of the morning, ma'am." All her fears laid to rest, she beamed back at him. He smiled a still warmer smile then held out his hand. Blushing she made to put hers in it, when he laughed a little and said softly, "Your passport please."
The passport ? "Ah, yes. Sure. My passport." The.. the thing that she had had with her when she boarded, the thing that she had sworn to protect with her life to her neurotic parents. The thing that she was going frantic trying to find. She scrabbled on hands and knees, she searched high and low. A high pitched voice from behind her said plaintively, " Miss ! Miss ! Is this yours ? I found it behind you.You must've dropped it." She looked up, a bedraggled mess, to see this thin beanpole of a man, holding out the blessed passport. As she grabbed it with a whoop of joy, she looked around her to see the officer looking around him, a bewildered expression on his face, at the collection of woman things, including sanitary napkins lying strewn at his feet. Going red in the face, she was on hands and knees again, grabbing her things, pushing them all back in the bag, as well as hiding her mortified face from the people sniggering behind her.
Airports ? Nah. She thought to herself. Why fight genetics. From now on it was the train for her. Forevermore. For better or for worse.
Custom officer :" Madam, do you have anything to declare ? "
Profusely sweating, her hands clammy, Mom muttered hoarsely, " No, your, er..er.. highness."
Custom officer (peering suspiciously at her) : "Are you trying to be funny."
My hard of hearing mum, " Yes, sir, its quite sunny." Then seeing his expression, she gestured vaguely, "Back there in India, sir."
Custom Officer : " All i want to know is, do you have anything to declare ? "
Mum, with a weary sigh, " How kind of you, yes, i could do with a chair. "
Custom officer ( gnashing his teeth) : PLEASE proceed to the exit.
By this time a long line of passengers were chafing impatiently behind her, and the officer, in his hurry to see her go, turns and trips over mum's ample bottom, bent to retrieve her case.
After the mass of officer, case and mum had been restored to their upright status, we proceeded, if a trifle sheepishly, towards the exit, the hapless officer, having hurriedly retreated to the rest room to avoid the sniggering mass of humanity in his wake.
With dad, she had gone to Jeddah for The ritual of Umrah, literally the mecca of muslim pilgrimage. Wearing 'ehraam' ( a set of two sheets covering the top and bottom half of the body, with nothing, and i mean NOTHING else ) would render any man irritable. My dad was the coolest, mildest person you ever knew. That is in normal circumstances. Add a custom officer, endless immigration lines, and an overtly cautious custom officer, flinging peoples' belongings around like confetti and the 'ehraam ? If, dear reader, you have been to the circus, and chanced to see the ringmaster free the lion, who then jumps on him and proceeds to run amok, you will know what i mean. He stormed to the head of the line, grabbed the bloke and proceeded to give him a verbal lashing, which fortunately for him was in English, not the officers' strong point. The man frowned, then struck his forehead in inspiration as he saw dad gesturing wildly and clutching onto the bottom half of his ehraam.The next thing she knew, her dad had been escorted to the nearest restroom, still protesting vigorously, while she and her mum went equally mad, thinking that he had been arrested.
To revert to the present, it was with beating, nay wildly beating heart that she made her way to the nearest line for immigration. As her turn neared, she was amazed to see the courtesy with which all the passengers were being handled by the officer. Breathing a sigh of relief, she surged ahead. Finally she stood, in front of the actually very good looking blonde man, the officer, who smiled a warm smile and wished her a "top of the morning, ma'am." All her fears laid to rest, she beamed back at him. He smiled a still warmer smile then held out his hand. Blushing she made to put hers in it, when he laughed a little and said softly, "Your passport please."
The passport ? "Ah, yes. Sure. My passport." The.. the thing that she had had with her when she boarded, the thing that she had sworn to protect with her life to her neurotic parents. The thing that she was going frantic trying to find. She scrabbled on hands and knees, she searched high and low. A high pitched voice from behind her said plaintively, " Miss ! Miss ! Is this yours ? I found it behind you.You must've dropped it." She looked up, a bedraggled mess, to see this thin beanpole of a man, holding out the blessed passport. As she grabbed it with a whoop of joy, she looked around her to see the officer looking around him, a bewildered expression on his face, at the collection of woman things, including sanitary napkins lying strewn at his feet. Going red in the face, she was on hands and knees again, grabbing her things, pushing them all back in the bag, as well as hiding her mortified face from the people sniggering behind her.
Airports ? Nah. She thought to herself. Why fight genetics. From now on it was the train for her. Forevermore. For better or for worse.
hahaha hilarious! (for better or for worse!)
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