FEAR SWEAT

FEAR SWEAT

PM0906131

The red light flashed and a buzzer rang,

but I ignored the customs guy and tried

to nonchalantly walk out the door.

Not today, I was called back and sent into

a room with my luggage.

Screw this, I thought, I'm not in a hurry,

and I don't have anything illegal,

I just want to get the fuck out of here.

I can't take it anymore.

I waited and I waited,

what a bunch of assholes, I just wanted

to get out and have a smoke,

I had been on the plane for hours and if

they had let me outside for two minutes I would

have happily sat there for hours as they tore

through my suitcases looking for heroin and ecstasy,

or whatever it was they thought I was trying

to smuggle back in.

I had lots of alcohol, maybe twenty bottles of wine,

but that's not what they were hunting,

why should they care about alcohol,

and the worst-case scenario was they would take it

away or charge duty on it,

fuck them, whichever they decided, just make the

decision and let me get the hell out of there.

I put on my most uncooperative face and just

sat there as if I had all the time in the

world, which I did, but then again,

I didn't.

I smiled as they pawed through my dirty 

clothes, they looked for secret compartments,

and they even opened my notebooks to see if

they could decipher what was on my mind.

Nothing.... doodles, swastikas are not illegal, we

are not in Germany or Israel,

frown and suck in your breath all you

want, I have done nothing wrong.

I answer the questions that I have not listened

to or understood and I wonder what they really

think of me. They are so interested in my notebook

and I can't help but laugh at the irony, I have 

tried so hard to get people to read what I have

written, but there are so few takers, yet these idiots

seem to be glued to every word, every pen stroke

every nuance, they didn't spend this much time

on my laptop for crying out loud and there could have

downloaded upskirt pics in there that

could have raised an eyebrow or two. Finally

they close my bag, look at me as though they are about

ready to spit and then they send me on my way

with a wave and a scowl, oh that cigarette was Heaven.

MCC