See that 'L' above the head?
That's it.
That's how it is like at airports.
Loser
Looooooo-ser.
L-O-O-O-O-O-S-E-R.
Airports and custom officers.
That is when one could start taking it personally.
"No one loves me."
"They HATE me."
"I look deformed."
"The world is against me."
"Shoot me."
"I carry a neon-sign above my head with a capital 'L'."
I'm NOT being my usual drama-queen here.
The truth is, there is no where and no one else on this earth that can degrade your self-esteem to a point of suicide. Only at the airports and with the custom officers. They make you feel so teeny-weeny that you start questioning the existence of your living.
You get 3 major idiots at the airports - one is the Airline Staffs, and the other is Airport Staffs and the biggest one of 'em all - the CUSTOM OFFICERS. And usually, when things go wrong at the airport of departure, you are almost certain you can hang yourself on the noose at arrival customs desk. In fact, if you've got luck like mine, bless you my child. You'd better start praying even before you leave your house for the airport.... "Dear God, please let this be smooth. Please let this be smooth. No customs idiots. No custom idiots. Amen."
CASE 1 : "The only time that I feel beauty doesn't work and I feel really ugly.... is when I'm at the airport."
Johannesburg International Airport - My girl-friend was flying back to South America. Everything seemed fine that morning. No hassles. My car battery didn't die on me. No traffic jam. So I left her to check herself in whilst I browsed around in CNA bookstore.
15 minutes later. She was still stuck at the counter. I checked my phone. 3 missed calls and a message. All from her. I checked my message. "That stupid bitch won't check me in."
I looked at her from afar and waved my phone to her. I called her. She was in a distraught state and started ranting away,"That bitch refused to check her in because she says that I do not have a return ticket to South Africa."
Me : "What is she talking about? You don't need a return ticket. You are not a SA resident! You are going back to South America to work. Doesn't she know?"
Her : "That stupid bitch won't listen to me. She says she cannot do anything because she cannot check me in unless I have a return ticket. And now she is walking around with my air ticket trying to get some help. You see her? That woman there walking....."
*Look around... see this pudgy mama walking past the counters.*
Me : "What's wrong with her? Call for the manager."
Her : "Errr.... "
Me : "Have you tried calling for the manager? Call the damn manager!"
Her : "OK."
That useless counter staff returned shortly after. In the next 5 minutes, she was checked-in. My friend huffed her way back to me, flushed with anger and ranted all the way to the coffee bar. Then her phone rang. Ranting started again. After the call, she ordered her coffee. Phone rang again. Rattled away. I have never seen her in such a state of anger.
Finally, phone stopped ringing. We started exchanging notes and competed to see who has the worst airport experience. But of course I won hands down. No one can beat my luck with London customs.
We grinned and concurred that between both our luck at the aiports, it is not wonder she had such a tough time at the counter.
Bad Luck United (BLU indeed) = Check-In Disaster (CID - now that's just plain corny)
I mean, afterall, the worst of our bad luck combined resulted in the death of my car battery - TWICE - on the morning she was due to leave for Durban. So what happened? She missed her flight, had to make a trip to the airport to get her on another flight and I insisted on paying for the penalty fee.
As we were walking towards the departure gate, she turned and said to me, "You know, the only time that I feel beauty doesn't work and.... I feel really ugly.... is when I'm at the airport." I cracked up. Excuse me! But we are talking of a woman who can charm her way through almost anything. She charmed her way with the traffic officer to help me lower the bribe cost, she charmed her way through overbooked restaurants to get us seats... she can perpetually charm her way through almost anything.... with the biggest exception - AIRLINE STAFFS & CUSTOM OFFICERS.
If she can get a life of hell at airports, it is no small wonder why I get the bitch of all craps.
Do you think that was the end of her airport woes? Hell no! She was stopped at every single transit for security checked. She should have known better. She did face problems with her flight a couple of days before departure, ya know? Her travel agent had double-booked her and her bookings were almost cancelled.
Quadruple shots of tequila please!
CASE 2 : What do I have to do to get into London?
My biggest nightmare - CUSTOM OFFICERS AT HEATHROW AIRPORT. Oh boy.... Me and United Kingdom.... no no... we so don't mix. From the first time entering London as a student, my life with Heathrow's customs have always been suicidal.
No other Singaporean students whom I know didn't get immediate student visa approval for their length of stay. Only me. I had to struggle to get my student visa. And I mean STRUGGLE. The idiot of a custom officer only gave me a year on my passport. So every year, it was the same shit for me, standing at that damn counter, receiving first degree interogation then finally getting an additional year stamped into my passport.
And if that was not enough, has anyone tried going to the Home Office at East Croydon to get a visa extension? Let me tell you, that is when you learn the true meaning of pathetic. Feeling like some refugee, I had to stand in this queue at 5 am in the morning in the midst of winter, sky pitched black. Never mind the office only opens at 8 am. There are overnight campers there as well. The Home Office has this queue number cut-off system. They will determine on daily basis what is the cut-off number for visa processing. I didn't know of this dumbass system so the first time I was there, I was 2 numbers after the cut-off number. They refused to look at my application. Period.
So the second time, I learnt to be smart and arrive there at 5 am in the morning. I was shocked at the queue. I thought I was real early already but I was still hundred-something in line. Standing in the cold, I daren't move from my position as someone else would viciously take over your line in queue. Everyone in the line was there for only ONE purpose - visa application. No one was willing to lose that chance. Hungry, thirsty and bored. It was to dark to read anything. 3 hours is not easy to get through. I tapped my feet to the music blasting off my discman. I just kept on waiting.
The doors opened. One by one in line, went through security check/scan, took a queue number, and once again, continued to wait. If anything, there is nothing more torturous than waiting yet too afraid to go anywhere where in fear of missing my number.
Finally! My turn! I submitted my application form and in less than 5 minutes, it was all over. Don't mistaken. I didn't get my visa there and then. They had to 'review the application' and will inform me at a later unknown date.
And so I waited for possibly two weeks in total and there was still no news from Home Office. My planned-flight to New York was nearing. I got anxious. I had two job interviews set-up and I was planning to spend my birthday in Boston. So I called the home office to check on the status. "Sorry. Our computer systems are down. We can't check for you now. Please call back tomorrow."
System was still down after five days and I could not wait any longer. I went down to the Home Office personally and again, arrived at some ungodly hours of the morning. Same shit, different day. And on this different day, after waiting for an ENTIRE DAY till 5 p.m. in the evening, they reverted back with the most award-winning news of all time - THEY LOST MY PASSPORT.
*BLANKED OUT*
Need I say more? I couldn't react. It was beyond my comprehension how they could "lose my passport". I was devastated. United States will not accept entry without a full passport. Not even if I have a letter from the British Embassy to verify the loss of my passport. Goodbye New York. Goodbye Boston. Goodbye job. Happy Birthday to me.
And that was that! I cancelled my flight, cancelled my job interview and had futile conversations with lawyer. The moment they heard "Home Office", it was "Sorry, we can't help you." Wusses of the millineum.
Singapore High Commission was impressive though. The lady was an absolute star and helped me obtain a new passport within 10 days. That was probably the first time I really truly appreciated being a Singaporean. The assistance provided was amazing. After being in England for four years, I did forget that efficiency do exist. It only made me realise how much crap of the British ways I had learnt to accept, to a point that inefficency became a norm. That was truly sad.
I was only granted one year validity of my passport. Regardless of reason(s), replacement of lost passports were only granted a year. I needed two. So I was advised to return to Singapore and have my passport extended.
And that was that. Year 2000. The most memorable of my affectionate encounters with the British immigration customs. I still have the 'momentums' of the events. It is sitting in my clear folder file. A constant reminder it will always serve, of my passport ordeal in good 'ol United Kingdom. God save the Queen.
**** Three Years Later ****
My first buying trip to London. My deepest fears of Heathrow custom officers came haunting me all over again. I knew in me this was going to be another bitch of an experience again. But then again, maybe things COULD have changed. Maybe the Heathrow custom officers COULD BE alot nicer now.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Johannesburg International Airport - As a procedure, airport staffs would check the air ticket and passport before one could join the queue to the check in counter. The other 2 people traveling got through without any problems. I did not think I was going to have any problems here. I AM holding one of the best passports in the world - Singapore Passport.
Oh boy.... how wrong could I be?
Airport Stupid Staff (ASS) fliped my passport and came to the page with my expired unused British Holiday Maker Visa.
Looked at me...
ASS : "Why didn't you use your visa?"
Me : "I decided not to go."
ASS : "And why not?"
Me : "Because my mother wouldn't let me?"
ASS seemed satisfied with that answer.
ASS : "Don't you need a visa to get into London?"
Me : "No. Singapore passport does not need a visa to get into London."
ASS (not convinced) : "You wait here."
ASS calls another ASS to check on my passport. I had to step aside for the other passengers to get though. This 'step-aside-for-a-short-while' turned out to be 1/2 an hour. This is a bad sign, a terrible sign. I knew at that very moment, Heathrow was going to be hell. *BIG SIGH*
London Heathrow Airport - Dejavu of student days. I STRUGGLED to gain entry AGAIN. Damn it! What do I have to do to get into London??? They had their f***ing suspicions, asked me dumbass question then unconvinced with my answers, interrogated me like I was an illegal immigrant, asked me to stand aside, ignored me for about 45 minutes. When a custom officer finally came to attend to me, told me to go collect my luggage and come back to have it checked. Fine! I went to collect my luggage and to my damnest of all damn shock, they started to read MY organiser and questioned my entries! I had never felt so violated in my entire life!
After what seemed like whatever, they finally inked their grand stamp on my passport.
Whatever!
Just let me through!
The other 2 travelers looked at me in disbelief.
They could not believe my trauma.
And oh yes, I forgot to add the fact that the airline (South African Airways) had messed up the seating arrangements and another big drama on the plane as they tried to arrange the passengers - including us.
The other 2 kept silent most of the way to they hotel.
Even an idiot to figure out from my facial expression to just f*** off.
I hate custom officers and I stand firm in my belief that they have psychotic sadistic torture tendencies. My ddaarrrrllliiinnnggggssss... the trip after this..... I was interrogated again.... this time, "Why didn't the custom officer want to let you through the last time?" I flicked my left eyebrow up, looked at him and sighed in resignation as he flashed to my face that big stamp in my passport from my last trip. So it turns out that stamp represents entry on conditional basis.
Heathrow is only the worst of my traveling woes. But don't think that the rest are smooth. Or so I wished! My luck at airports is incredulously atrocious. I mean there is one time, someone double-booked me on my flight to the U.S. and I was only called aside at every other transit available..... no big deal... and there was this other time.... and oh! there was still this one time... oh... and another, and another 'this one time'.
Many a times I think to myself, maybe I should just give up traveling.
Maybe it is just me.
My bad luck.
Only me.
And then my issues start all over again....
"No one loves me."
"They HATE me."
"I look deformed."
"The world is against me."
"Shoot me."
"I carry a neon-sign above my head with a capital 'L'."
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