This is an old blog from a number of years ago. It sort says why I don’t like flying as much as I should. Given that I had flown numerous times prior to this, I was surprised at my surprise. I know that all of it is done for good reason and that’s no excuse either side. It has now changed since last flew but, I am sure it still exists. Even in this country. In no way was anyone to blame. (Just in case I fly again).

Not that anyone reads these mind you.

Good Cop, Bad Cop on a Boarder crossing

A Thursday in June 2007.

I hate flying. OK, not a correct statement, but a statement all the same. What I hate is the trapped boredom. Fixed in place, stuck, no computer, no remote, and no freedom. I had my book, a place you could dive into and explore. But you can’t just get up and make a tea or go for a walk. They say you should try and sleep. I had flown a number of times before this event, so why this time a surprise?

Ok, so flying gets you there quickly, fine. You land, then you grab your bags, then you stand in queue. Then you meet customs.

8 hours of flying followed by maybe hours of waiting, before 10 minutes of grilling. If you’re lucky. You are tired, you are displaced, you jet-lagged. Before you land you are given a mass of instructions including one small important card.

The green card. You’re one and only chance to impress that customs officer. And of course you always find the good cop, bad cop next to each other. They look at you, that welcoming stare. You are told to step forward, but don’t step too early or else. You hand over the card and passport and try to smile. It’s a holiday for heavens sake and you are free from that darn tin can. They check the card over and you get that look.

First time, forgot to sign the back of the card. Well, very sorry says I. The blank reply. ‘You wont apologise. You will correct it. Go back over there, sign and wait.” 

For a brief moment, the thought crossed my mind we would have to go all the way 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 too the 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, coat 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 anyways, 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. But you do have to understand and be very very good.