Pompeii – Bastille
Eating all that paper. Not the best preparation for a flight back to America. Customs. Fully to the fore. What if they do what they did to Kailand?! But I’m legal, fully, I have a visa! I know, calm down, it’s just you might get a guy who’s having a bad day and he could screw you over somehow. But I have a visa, I’m all good! Well we didn’t even think what happened to Kailand could have possibly happened and you know how well that went! Oh balls. Me bowels. Durchfall. At least I was in business class. Paranoid but comfortable. Always key. Although I do need the bathroom.
Wait. Spot a guy on the other side waiting too. Obligatory nod hello. Ignores me. Nice. Standing. Wishing. Thinking. Waiting. Did I ever blogaruu about my flight back from New York when the plane hit some turbulence right as I was walking out of the bathroom? Made me stub my toe on the door and accidentally kick it open the making it fly into the face of a guy waiting in line causing him to shoot his head back to avoid the full force but he just ended up shoving himself into the back of a woman who was waiting for the other bathroom while also drinking a glass of water which ended up all over a seated air flight steward who was not a happy camper with me for the rest of the flight. Just an angry camp one. At least no one was hurt. Except for my toe. Did I ever blog about that? No? Not sure. And what are the people doing in the bathroom? Both still occupied? Come on, people, I’ve got toes to stub!
Sit down in a vacant seat by the toilet. Sit while I wait. What does this button do I wonder? Nothing. Ah dose, another guy has started queuing for the bathroom. Didn’t see him while I was pushing buttons. Now closer to the toilet than me. Physically ahead of me in the queue. Should I say something, make it awkward? I was here first. Ah, funk it. Still no sign of anyone leaving. No flush or anything. What are they doing in there? What could it be? Old people? No, business class was quiet, no old people around. Oh Jesus. Terrorists. Must be that, seriously. What else could it be?! Actually, maybe sex? Bastards. Hmm. Terrorists or sexorists. Either one, both bastards. In both bathrooms though? Doubtful. Calm down, Pat.
Queue jumper guy waiting on my side gives up. Back to the top of the queue I go. Waited that one out. Champion. Still no budging from either bathrooms. No movement at all. Well, there might be one soon if they don’t hurry the funk up. Stewards enquires if I’m still waiting. No no, I just came back for round two after enjoying myself so much the first time… Of course I’m still waiting! Well, that’s what I hope my shoulder shrug and nod implied to him. Steward shakes his head. Also befuddled. I agree, very befuddling. He knocks on the door. Nothing. Slides open a latch by the lock. Looks in. Goes over to the bathroom on the other side of the plane. Repeats the process. Shrugs. Apparently both have been vacant the whole time. The locks just slide shut on both of them. ON BOTH OF THEM?! SURE THEY DID. Opens the doors for us from the outside. Finally.
Enter slowly. No one in here. Or else they fell down the toilet. Odd. At least I’m in. Actually, that’s kind of odd too, the way the steward could just look in from the outside. Never knew they could do that. He can just look in at me now if he wants, while I do my business, whatever that may be? I can never relax now knowing that. Balls. Too tense. Missed the boat. Shipped has sailed. Elvis is now stuck in the building! Tut.
Arrive at LAX. Fill out my forms. Act breezy. Care free. Thank the flight attendants. Great flight, thanks guys! Smile and casually walked towards customs. Make some small talk with myself about the movies I watched on the plane. And now look, here I am. Visa control. I’m all good, I’m legal for God’s sake, what was I being paranoid for? Silly man. Nothing to worry about, not even a big queue, mighty! Just behind an older couple. Almost through. All good. Customs officers ahead are a middle aged caucasian lady or a middle aged Asian man. For some reason I want the lady. Come on, the lady. ComeoncomeoncomeoncomeonBALLS. Asian guy waves me to his window.
Hi, how’s it going, not too bad, yourself. Hand over my passport. Asks me the standard question. Give him the standard replies. Takes a photo of me. Does the finger prints. Mighty. Smooth sailing! Just has to stamp the passport and away I go… Just has to stamp the passport and away I go… Just has to… Why is he looking at the passport in so much detail? Calm down. Play it cool. Smile and be nice. Although should I smile? Or be serious? Smile- No, serious- NO, SMILE! So I’m smiling, then I’m serious, then I’m smiling. Should I look at him? Or look away? Look away, stare at the wall in the distance, that’s better. Now you just look like a smiling weirdo who’s staring at the wall. Just look at him and smile but not creepy like. Just be chill. Be cool, man, be cool. Look, just fiddle with your pen in your pocket, take your mind off the fact he’s taking an age to stamp your passport. Fiddle fiddle fiddle, twiddling my pen. Now I’m just zoned out, staring at him, while smiling and fiddling in my pocket as if I’m pleasuring myself. That’s the look I want, right? I don’t know, I’m on my own, he’s left his seat. And now I’m being taken away. Oh. Dear. Jesus. And what’s this, my bowels now want to fully relax??
Visa patrol guy is walking me to a part of customs I’ve never seen before, just over to the side really. I try my best to squeak out ‘Is there a problem?’ but my mouth is as dry as the paper I was previously munching. Now I know what sawdust tastes like. Informs me I am going to secondary questioning. My bowels flutter their eyelashes once again. Asks me if I know my passport is due to expire in six months. I basically know nothing at this point. Just that this has never happened before. And thank Jesus I ate that paper. Although hopefully I don’t flush it out anytime in the immediate future.
Get to secondary questioning. Leave my bags at the sliding doors. Oh Jesus. This is what happened to Kailand! I’m goosed. Screwed. Funked! Sit down. See there’s one other girl in the room with me, an English actress who I recognise from a few movies. Oddly enough I once met an Irish guy in Santa Barbara whose Mum was friends with her Mum and he tried to get me to meet up with her when I first came to L.A but it never happened. Such a strong connection too. Should I make small talk, tell her that great story? Nay. Mouth too dry. Bowels too dodge. Fiddle with my pen instead. That calms me down.
Room gets another visitor, this time an English actor who’s in a few movies I might of seen and is a friend of a friend. Again, small talk is not my priority. More people are brought in soon after, no one I knew. So this part is of little relevance. Although me being second after the good looking English actress did help so that’s why I brought her up. Her name is called. Up to a desk she goes. Chats to the two guys at the computers. Bats eyelids and eyelashes. Laughs. Touches her hair. Wins them both over with complete ease in a few second. All three now laughing, flirting, high fiving, almost hugging by the time she gets the green light to go through. Offices apologise sincerely to her. Stamp her passport. She gets in, I get called up, two guys are still kind of in her spell. And then I break it by asking how’s it going and now they’re back to being serious secondary questioning visa control officers. Mighty.
“Do you know your passport expires in six months?”
I didn’t, sir, office, mister.
“Why are you here?”
Adventures and writing and all that, mister, sir, officer, I’m sorry – Do you like fluttering bowels by any chance?
Once I explained my jam, he was pretty cool. Just as long as it was for adventures and writing and all that. I kind of got some small talk going while he checked stuff on the computers, pick up the baton where the English actress left it no doubt. So, you guys, is my luggage OK and stuff? “It’ll be dropped over here for you if you get the OK to continue through.” Oh great, that’s wonderful. Took a look over to the double doors where I left my hand bags luggage. Saw a luggage handler wheeling over suitcases and the likes. Spotted mine. Jesus, let me in, so close. Visa control guy was satisfied everything was above board. Starts shuffling through my passport to look where to stamp. Gets out the stamp and looks at me. At the same time the luggage guy pops his head in the door – “Mark Hayes, do we have a Mark Hayes?” Yeah, that’s me, hang on, you’re interrupting this guy letting me in.
“You got some heavy luggage?”
Who? Me? No? Shake my head.
“Your guitar is waiting for you by the heavy luggage section, pick it up there.”
Huh? Oh Jesus Christ. Forgot about that. My buddy gave me a guitar in London and I took it because I am hoarder of some sort and claimed I would finally learn how to play the guitar, why did I do that, I’m meant to be here for adventures and writing, not guitar playing. This is kind of what happened to Kailand because she’s a musician and thought she was there to work as one. She was deported! Must not let that happen, I NEED TO EAT THE GUITAR AND DISPOSE OF ANY EVIDENCE.
Swivel around. Secondary questioning visa control guy’s hand is making a motion to stamp my passport and let me in. Realises the luggage guy was shouting at me. Then everything went slow motion. His hand slows down as he looks up at me and his brain tries to compute “GUITAR – YOU – WHAT DID YOU SAY YOU DOOOO?”
HERE TO WRITE! I shout before he can ask.
Startles him into life. Push his hand down. Stamp on my passport. Not sure what happens. I black out. Wake up somewhere outside LAX. Missing my pants, but still, it will duu. In. Back. Dancing! OH BETSY! LonDumb off. RanDumb. On!!
And then I ran to find a bathroom. After eating all that paper I had a bad cases of the sheets. BaDum. Thank you.
We Come Running (RAC Remix) – Youngblood
RanDumb! -> WEE HUU!
RanDumber! -> SNAP HER UP!
RanDumber Kindle -> SNAP ON!
RanDumber UK -> GIDDY UP!