I specifically mention ‘walk out’ here because with my green passport (Pakistani passport for you not so border friendly readers out there) it really is a pain to enter the US from its eastern border.
You have just gotten off a 14-hour flight, you’re tired, craving a nicotine hit (in my case at least) and are dying for that hot shower to wash away the cabin smell from your hair that can only be compared to. . . . heck I don’t even know what you can compare it to since it’s a distinct aroma associated only with a journey that comprises of 300 plus souls cramped in a bus with wings and an atmosphere that has been frequently compared to being drier than the Sahara on a cozy June afternoon!
So here one (or at least I with my green passport) stands in a long ass immigration line and approaches the attending officer who, initially, greets you quite cordially however after a few keystrokes on his PC he hands you your passport in a yellow file and sends you over to a room where there is nothing happening more than a waiting game with a hundred other people of all races (ironically very few white’s and by whites I mean Caucasian but hey I’m not a racist!) followed by the questions of how long you are here for, what is the purpose of your visit and what do you do?
I wonder, at times, if a terrorist or would-be trouble-maker entering the US from JFK would actually stand up in front of these immigration officers and respond that he is here to wreck havoc in this city??!!
Well two hours go by (just because you are waiting your turn) and the actual process of questioning is over in 15 minutes with an officer who looks like his wife beats him at night and he doubts that his youngest child who regularly pukes and shits all over his loafers every evening is actually his own kid!
Then you are lead to counter 46 where another officer, who looks like he beats his wife and has a bunch of kids but not all from his wife, calls you after an hour (another waiting game till ones turn comes up here) and asks you the same set of questions and; quite oddly, your credit card number (I now wonder if his flashy gold chain was the extra charge on my bill last year where I took the bank to task and finally got the transaction reversed?)
Well after all this (I am talking about 3-4 extra hours here on top of all the travel time one has just been through) you gather your baggage from aisle 8 and head out of the automatic sliding doors to be greeted by the distinct New York air!!
Sniff . . Aaah, I do love this city!
TAXI!!!!
