Conversations with Americans

I had a much more eventful travel to the US yesterday than usual. Or, rather the traveling in itself was pretty lame, it was what I went through when I got there that was interesting.

First, at Immigration Control I thought myself lucky. They were closing the line I was in, so I was the last one to be handled by that agent. "This will be quick and easy", I thought. "She wants to go home or take a break or whatever. I love Americans, they love me." Nah. She asked the standard questions, but also began to probe what it is I was doing in the US and what I did for a living, etc. I answered truthfully that I used to be a teacher and that I was now basically traveling the world. At the end she hollered to a colleague, who took my passport and that of two other Norwegians from other lines, and all three of us were shown into a back room where a lot of guys sat behind their computers.

This was the so-called "Secondary immigration" control, where people go through everything from a quick, extra paper check that takes 30 seconds to complete, to what I can only assume is a free vacation of unspecified length at Guantanamo Bay on the other end of the spectrum. While sitting there we Norwegians were speculating at the cause of our misfortune and commenting on the seeming slowness with which new people were called forward.

Finally, after the two others (and lots more) had been waved through without so much as a proper interview, it was my turn. The guy behind the counter was an African American, prolly in his 30s. First he asked me the purpose of my trip, to wich I replied something like "driving around for 90 days". "And you think I'm going to let you do that?", he asked. "Yup", I replied, grinning from ear to ear. From there on out it was all fluffy animals and roses. It was ice cream (vanilla) and apple pie. I believe I saw a unicorn at one point.

He told me "your accent leads me to believe you've spent a long time here before?" I told him I'd been to the US 8 times, but that I'd never lived there and that I'd had this accent the first time I arrived. I told him I'd been raised on country music and that I was an English teacher. He then gave me one of the greatest compliments an American can give me. He said "Ah know y'all learn English, but not THAT kinda English. That's American, man." He asked some more questions about my travel plans, etc, and seemed genuinely fascinated by my story of selling the house and just traveling for the better part of a year. I laid it all out, in, may I say, impeccable, American English.

Soon I realised that the problem was that ON PAPER I had no income. All his computer told him was that I was an unemployed, and for all he knew I was some kind of slob coming to work illegally or even steal my way across the USA. He seemed almost apologetical when he asked if I had some kind of documentation of my story. I told him I had a valid traveler's insurance, a ticket home in three months, that I had friends in the US, and offered to open up my laptop and get online to show him my Norwegian bank statements. He pondered this for a few seconds, then shook his head and smiled. He stamped my passport a couple of times, handed it to me and said "enjoy your trip, Sir".

The same thing happened at customs. A big, burly black guy looked over my papers and asked me questions. When I told him my story, he seemed even more fascinated than the guy at Immigration, and we had a little conversation about what ails "today's youth". He barely browsed the contents of my suitcases and didn't bother to ask how much the things I was bringing in as gifts cost (there's a $100 tax-free limit for non-Americans, which I was probably WAY over, what with all my chocolates and stuffed animals). "Well", he said, "I think you've got a legitimate reason to be fed up teaching. You have a good trip, Sir". And just like that I was through. In retrospect, the potentially unsavory combination of "former teacher", and a suitcase full of chocolate and stuffed animals should have set some alarm bells off, but it didn't...

This pattern repeated itself throughout the day. The woman at the Continental desk who finally managed to print me a boarding card, was nice and laughed when I exclaimed a little "wheeee" as the pass was printed.

The guy signing my boarding pass just before the inland security check gave my passport a sudden, second look, then shook his head and smiled before handing it back. I looked at him kinda surprised and he shrugged his shoulders apologetically and said "it's the hair". "Yeah", I replied, "it was a lot of hair ago" (the pic was taken sometime in the late 90s, when I was all hair.) And he gave me a genuine grin.

The stewardess on Continental's flight to San Diego, who told me, when the machine refused my credit card the first couple of times I tried to pay for my Thai Chicken Wrap: "You gotta do it just so, it's very temperamental. Must be a female", and then gave a throaty, raw laugh.

The guy at the Hertz counter too seemed genuinely interested when I told him my story and my travel plans. He asked several questions I'm pretty sure were not in the Hertz manual for customer care, but I was happy to talk.

So there you have it, dear reader. A long trip and more scrutiny than I'm used to from US authorities (I usually breeze through everything), but all smiles and complete professionalism throughout. All the other yanks I've met have been nice and smiling too. It's currently about 20 minutes past 8 in the morning here in San Diego and despite some jet lag over the next couple of days, I'm looking forward to the three best months of my life. I pwomise to keep y'all updated.