MSP mostly Teflon

MSP mostly Teflon January 2017. Chiang Mai

Six months after 911 I board an Air New Zealand flight for LAX with a quick layover in Auckland. The plane is half empty and just as the seat belt sign light flicks off with that familiar 'bong' sound the quick among us scramble for a row to lay down in. I score three seats, enough for me. No sleep though.

Auckland International Airport is an agonising four hours of mind numbing boredom. It's 2002 and mobile phones with internet and WiFi are none existent. Back in line 'meh meh baa' surprised I didn't see a sheep dog.

Not a wink of sleep all the way to LAX but in-flight entertainment is top notch. I land tired and not looking forward to two more flights. I have a briefcase and a suit in a proper suit bag as hand luggage and a back pack. Customs/Immigration officials are maned by New Zealand staff to my astonishment, they are gracious and friendly (the last time I'll ever have that experience again).

I collect my suitcase and have a choice for quarantine. Declare (red) or nothing to declare (green). I have some almonds I didn't finish eating on the flight so I go through the red with no queues.

Three huge Maori guards chat casually at the exit. The look expectantly at me, my brain not firing quick enough, I blurt out "I've got some nuts" to one of them, he looks at the other two and they burst into unapologetic roaring laughter. My cheeks redden slightly from embarrassment but I can take it. Perhaps not the smartest way to phrase my declaration in hindsight but I made their day.

There is no question of whether I should proceed, they are physically incapable of stopping me anyway, I've paralysed them with snorting, shrieking wailing laughter they cannot even lift an arm to wave me on.

Outside on the long circular airport carousel I walk with too much luggage to Delta Airlines.

"Thank you for choosing Delta" the slogan is inane and presumptuous. I didn't choose Delta you idiots, it was the cheapest ticket.

I check my suitcase and go to find a coffee. I'm aware of how bad American coffee is so I find a Haagen Dazs (a European ice creamery) that is selling coffee, hopeful that they will be able to actually do it justice.

I order a small coffee and wait. I receive I milkshake cup full to the brim with sand coloured liquid in it. "Excuse me, I asked for a small" trying to hide my indigence. "Yes Sir that is a tall" , "no, no small" as I make the universal sign with my finger and thumb suspecting it's also the common brain size in the vicinity. "I'm sorry Sir, it's the smallest we have" I sigh in resignation and sip the 'coffee'. It's like someone dragged a bucket of dirty dishwasher liquid and waved a few beans over the top and slapped it into the largest cup imaginable. I try hard not to spit it all over the counter. I turn and drop the entire catastrophe into a bin and walk away with a long sigh.

I decided to check my suit bag, sick of lugging it around, I have ample time so I go back to check in. After an inordinate amount of time I manage to explain what I want to do, it's a huge drama and after much confusion and paperwork they agree its possible, in theory.

After more red tape and time wasting they order a bomb check for my suit. What? Are you serious, my eyes roll back in my head. You think I have a bomb in my thin suit bag.  How do you think I got it here in the first place? Can't you just put it through the scanner like every other piece of check luggage?? How is it possible not to see the insanity in this?

I walk upstairs to the gate lounges exasperated. Time moves like the last hour of a high school class. They call my flight and we line up for final check before boarding, I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

I approach the security staff and hand my passport to the enormous black man, he examines it. "Step out of the line Sir" his voice aggressive and harsh. I follow him to a small table. "What's in you bag?" He demands with hostility, a barely veiled accusation. I blink repeatedly.

How do I even begin to answer that question. My stuff, my belongings, do you want the contents in alphabetical order or by size. It seams a rather superfluous question really. Am i meant at this point to concede that despite multiple scanners from Melbourne to LAX and the recent Delta ones he's surely aware of, I have some how magically smuggled in a bomb, a gun or a banjo?

I blink and he repeats the question louder and with less patience. "Um, my stuff" I manage a bewildered reply.

My briefcase is already on the small beige table in anticipation of the inevitable which we both understood when I stepped out of the line.

"Open you bag SIR" its not a request but an intimidating demand. I roll my eyes back in my head, I flick the latches and open to reveal neat stationary of the non exploding variety. We repeat the process for my back pack. He asks me what's in it. I have trouble hiding my contempt. After the disappointingly dull contents are revealed I assume that I can go.

"Put your hands out and spread your legs" he's quite close looming over me, eyes locked onto mine. I stare back, I refuse to be intimidated by a would be disco bouncer and my patience is wearing thin.

He runs the hand wand over my body and in my back pocket is a wallet with a magnetic clip. The wand beeps and he over reacts instantly. "WHATS THAT" he yells pointing to my hip as if I'm hiding a small marsupial which will lunge at him at any given moment.

My eyes roll back in my head in disbelief at the lunacy of his fear. He presses forward only centimetres from my face eyes glowing with antagonism. Were both sweating, my adrenaline gland opens and my heart rate triples and my tired brain switches to overdrive. I look straight back in his eyes unflinching. "It's my wallet" I grumble through almost gritted teeth. "Want me to take it out?" Sarcasm dripping from my words like acid.

His reaction is scornful as I slowly reach back and remove my wallet and hand it to him. Like a child denied a prize at a fair, he examines it with savage disappointment. My arms still outstretched waiting for the search to finish.

He resumes scanning and at the very last second as he starts to turn away he spots a small bulge under my right arm pit. I'd been given a passport holder before I left and tried it out, I didn't like it and in a last attempt I slung it under my arm to see if it was less annoying, it was more comfortble. 

The flash in his eyes is electric and bellowing at his loudest he points to the newly discovered possibility and screams into my face "WHATS THAT, WHATS THAT!!". He's so close to me, the smell of stale breath and acrid sweat. 

Towering over me like a NFL quarterback BURNING eyes drilling into mine he grimaces with the arrogance of the pathetic bully he is.

I can feel the heat and pressure rising in my body I know what's coming and I fight to control it but it's coming fast.

I'm going to explode and lose my temper, an extraordinarily rare situation for me. I calculate the first blows to come, first one to his throat, second to the groin then elbow to the head and probably a finishing kick to the head just to make sure. I have to stop it, I can feel the volcano eruption rising, I vainly struggle to suppress it. There must be a way, this is madness but I'm close to the point of no return.

Somehow I glance over his shoulder and see two security guards arms crossed watching intently. I look out of my peripheral vision, one on the left, two more on the right. I know there's more behind me. I can take one or two, if I'm lucky maybe three but seven or right is improbable.... Who am I kidding impossible.

I imagine myself on the phone calling the company in Florida to inform them that I won't be coming to see them as arranged because I'm being deported, after they finish fining me, when I'm sufficiently healed to travel home and could they please send me some bail money.

This work trip is pivotal to my future, 

The volcano sinks reluctantly back down to my absolute relief. Still nose to nose with the towering black man who has seen the look of unmistakable defiance in my eyes he's ready to tango but I must decline. 

8 years later

I wake at four am. I often have trouble figuring out where I am, on the road again. Dark hotel room, unfamiliar furnishings not jogging my memory but suddenly I instantly know where I am. The hum of a loud motor, the stifling heat, the deafening crunch of the ice machine outside my room responsible for the two and a half hours of sleep and red ear drums from ineffective earplugs.

Yeeeeeeep MSP has some shitty hotels. I actually like Minnesota St Paul, it's has culture and class probably a result of some impressive Universities and serious thinkers. But the hotel is still shitty.

I'm gone by 4:30, plenty of time to make the airport and drop the car.

 I've gotten used to the other side of the road, gotten used to lots of things. Travel light, quick through an airport, quick to figure out the direction of the city layout, used to things not working in hotels, meals that don't match their description, thin weak milkshakes masquerading as coffee.

I listen to the radio on the way, intelligent talk back on interesting topics. As I approach the airport entrance I'm greeted with a multitude of signs, searching for the rental return sign like the proverbial needle. At the very last junction I miss it, just not quick enough, oh well round I go I spose. 

My wrong turn leads me through the airport and perplexingly back out onto the freeway, a maze of criss crossing loops and i just cant seam to get back in the other direction, I go more than 10 minutes before I manage a complex u turn and then face the same problem back the other way, not able to get back into the airport without going past it.

Tired and frustrated valuable time passes before I can get back on track.

Déjà vu, I  find my way back at the mistaken turn and easily nail it, half an hour later.

I quickly drop the car and take my gear inside where the queues are ridiculously long for 5:30am.

Check-in for me and my bag is a painful experience and off to security but since the recent shoe bomb episode they have pre screening before security so there are massive queues just to show a ticket and ID to enter the security area. This has added 20min to some airports but MSP is busier so 45 min or more. Time is ticking away. 

The security staff are hired on the prerequisite skills; permanent aggression, zero patience, completely devoid of empathy, an overwhelming sense of self importance, an unnecessarily mean disposition, quick to jump to conclusion or panic and lacking the facial ability to smile under any circumstances. A history of violence is a bonus as is losing your license as a security guard or bouncer for "over enthusiasm".

Welcome to Homeland Security USA.

I'd allowed enough time but not for this. The uniformed drone takes my ticket and passport and looks at me suspiciously after reading both I'm given the next familiar glance "I'm not sure if I like to look of you 'boy', you do realise we have to like you to let you through?".

No, no I wasn't aware it was a fucking popularity contest and foreigners have the permanent disadvantage of not 'being from around here'. 

I disdainfully receive my paperwork back with an air of contempt, if only they could drag me away, just gimme an excuse boy.

The queues for hand baggage scanning are impossibly long, I check the time, it doesn't look good.

After an eternity I make it to the scanner and shove my belongings on the mini conveyor and walk through the body scanner. I make eye contact with the responsible guard and confidently saunter through, I've played too many times to get this wrong.

The mini conveyor stops, back and forth a few times and then the dreaded words come "Is this YOUR bag?", "Ah yes", "STEP this way!". How could I get it wrong, hundreds apon hundreds of times, I know how it works.

"You have something in your bag" an accusation levelled like a sharp knife with intent. So deadly serious.

Now let me see, did I pack my explosives, today? Maybe I left my 9mm Glock in there instead of putting it in my check luggage. Certainly there is no dirty bomb 'so 90s' really. I know it's not anthrax cause I ran out a week ago. Could be a hunting knife but my best ones won't even fit in that little bag.

I stare blankly at them. "Can you open it?" Like they can't? Are you hands painted on? Do you think it will explode if you touch it. Are you stupid? "Sure" I reply. OMG I found it. It's a water bottle, quick get the firing squad. 

I can't believe I forgot, how stupid of me, I sure as shit don't have time for this. I hand them the bottle. They accept it with suspicion and deadpan seriousness as I'd obviously endangered every person in the airport with my potentially lethal water bottle. Im tempted to roll my eyes back in my head but last time that escalated quickly into something far more dangerous so I remind myself I'm late. I run for my plane.

Exasperated, frustrated, tired, appalled and fed up.

I can't do it any more. Stand endlessly in line while some moron implements the ridiculous rules dreamt up by a bigger moron. I can't deal with the stupidity of it all. So bewilderingly unnecessary.

The facade of safety cloaked in paper thin meaningless rituals to appease the masses into believing they have it 'all under control'. Bitch please!

It's a sham, a house of cards for fools to play along. I can't do it. I'm done.

I consider slowly the alternative.

Don't travel, don't go, stay home away from the pantomime of idiocy.

I ponder the implications.

And calm arrives.

This is the price of travel. Make peace with it or stay home.

Learn to accept it or don't go.

Everything becomes easier.

My shoulders drop and I'm happy with my decision.

It a new me who travels now. Smiling in queues. Happily waiting. Unperturbed by the dumbest of situations.  No more rolling back my eyes, no more sighing at the imbecilic actions of others. Content to play the game however ridiculous now matter how extreme.

Why? Simple, I love travelling, more than anything other pastime I love it. So I hurry up and wait, content than it will be worthwhile.

Truth be told I arrive happier and more relaxed than anyone on the flight. There's no in flight movies? No problem. They've run out of the food I want. No problem. There is a delay, I'm cool. A child screaming and i smile. Someone complaining, not my problem, nothing can touch me now. I'm Teflon. 

I land at Detroit, my least favourite city, relaxed and amused. The two gay air hostesses were having a bitch session behind me at the very rear of the cabin (no pun intended). They were so fucking funny, over the top

I wait endlessly for my luggage unfazed and catch a bus 15 minutes to the car depots, God knows you couldn't possibly put rental cars inside an airport, that would be absurd.

I grab my keys and press the remote to open the shitty Dodge and throw my bag in the back. I unzip it and get out my Tomtom lead and..... where is the mount?

Three times I empty my suitcase and repack it until it slowly dawns on me, the mount is still stuck to the windscreen of the shitty Toyota at MSP, I can see it now. How could I be so consistantly stupid?

I'm annoyed now, perhaps not completely Teflon but close.

The Tomtom slides off the dash onto the floor for the fifth time. Now I'm driving with one hand holding it to the dash. It's hard to shift gears but what can you do.

Late that night, tired and determined to get out of Detroit I cross the bridge at Point Edward into Canada. Que orchestral music, not only my first time in the land of Mooses, Mounties and Maple whiskey but I'm leaving the home of the brave and the land of the paranoid for a few days of civility, intelligence, calm demeanor, Tim Ho and better food.

The border control officer is relaxed, jovial and amused by an Aussie crossing. He makes a joke, yes really, they're allowed to do that up there, Aye.

On the way to the falls I fall asleep, micro napping till I'm forced to pull off the highway and find a shopping centre car park to sleep in for an hour or two. 

I roll into Niagara at 4am and pour myself into a hotel bed saturated in exhaustion.

The Maid of the Mist (a boat that drives to the bottom of the falls) stopped running the day before I arrived so I book a helicopter tour over it. Take that falls! I drive along the parkway road stopping at wineries and having a wonderful time. The chopper flight is breathtaking, exilerating and a triumph of choice. My reward for a week of hard work and dealing with cretins.

The following day I walk across the bridge (of death) to the USA side. Why? Well apparently the sound and feel is better not quite making up for their super shitty view.

The border control officer eyes me suspiciously with that familiar 'you ain't from around here are you Boy!' look. I have to work hard to keep a straight face.

I'm shocked to find they've also be trained in the 'you know I have to like you to let you in' look as well. Wow so impressive. Can I go now fucker??

Reluctantly I'm allowed the privilege of entering 'Merican soil.

I walk for over two hours around the park on the retarded side. The park is beautiful and snow is melting everywhere being November. 

I walk back to the fun side and hand over my passport to the smiling Canadian border control officer. Yes I know.

"How long you been in the US?" He asks. "Oh about two hours" he frowns quizzically. "Where were you before that?" , "Here" his frown deepens and he flicks through my passport casually while asking some mundane questions just to stall and be pleasent.

Finally he askes "Where did you come into Canada from?" , "Um Prince Edward I think, you know near Detroit". "Ahhhhh I see" turning to his side kick "Those lazy pricks didn't even stamp his passport".

He stamps mine and flicks it back to me shaking his head in disbelief. "Enjoy your trip" genuinely wishing me on my way.

Is it possible to have a more stark contrast?

Well as a matter of fact it is.

The following morning I check out early, buy a really shit coffee and sit in the Dodge on the bridge to re-enter the United States of We're To Good For You.

Why? Work, I have no choice. On to Albany and then New Hampshire, New Jersey and Florida. 

It's dark on the bridge of death at 6am. My coffee is hot and tastes like burnt mud with powdered cream in it. There's a car in front of me, I wait patiently behind it singing to CD I've listened to nine times.

Eventually he drives on and I pull up to officer hard pants, wind down my window to the freezing chill of morng air and hand him my passport.

He looks at me for a disturbingly long time before looking at my passport. Then in an absurdly tearse and aggressive tone asks a question. "DID YOU SEE THE CAR BEFORE YOU COME THROUGH?!" my face contorts in confusion, "What??" His face reddens and his anger foaming like a fizzy drink that's been shaken too long.

He sucks in air and yells louder like he's talking to a disobedient dog or a deaf imbicile. Guess which one he thinks I am?

"DID YOU SEE THE CAR BEFORE YOU COME THROUGH?!!" Wow I'm not sure what drugs you're on but there is little bits of spit flying from your crazy mouth. I reply perplexed and incredulous as what he says makes no sense at all. "I don't understand" 

His eyes widen and his face boils with white rage with red rouge. Shaking uncontrollably he bellows the same idiotic question with pauses between each word as if somehow it's so obvious and going slower and louder will solve my lack of comprehension.

DID, YOU, SEE, THE, CAR, BEFORE, YOU, COME, THROUGH??? I'm dumbfounded. "I don't understand" I reply again.

My brain scrambles to make sense of the unsolvable riddle and then like a hidden side door sliding open in my mind I realise that it doesn't matter.

I roll my eyes back in my head and it's impossible for him not to notice. 

As his rage explodes in a torrent of indecipherable jabbering I stare back at him indifferently adding to his frenzied tirade. 

I'm a tourist not a terrorist there's a difference in the spelling which every other sane human on the planet understands except here. 

My eyes glaze over and he cannot accept that what he is saying doesn't matter to me, 'he' doesn't matter.

I swear he's going to have a coniption!

As the fervent spluttering rant continues it slowly becomes apparent, the source of his unmitigated fury. About three car lengths behind me is a rectangle painted on the road and I was supposed to stop there instead of pulling up two metres behind the previous car.

I have by this careless act endangered the life of every hot dog eating, duff beer hat wearing American in the country. I should be ashamed but clearly I'm not.

Oh I see officer spitting chips, you're a lttle man in a big uniform with a small amout of power to weild and you think this behaviour is in some way acceptable. Wow what a giant dick you are.

There are children across the river singing songs with thick accents about how much of a dick you are. Pen pals in third world countries get letters with graphic detailed descriptions of what a giant knob head you are. A vintage biplane fly's over a crowded baseball stadium with an impossibly long sign trailing behind in huge red letters stating what a massive douchebag you are. There is an army of ants lying on the ground behind you, listening to your bombastic diatribe, crying micro tears of laughter, shaking their heads and planning a miniature billboard to point out that the size of your intellect is only marginally smaller than your penis. 

Turning away to examine my hands on the wheel I turn back and looking through him as if I'm lost in thought (about ants) slowly I refocus on the self important walrus in front of me flapping his arms and gnashing his teeth pointlessly. Are you done yet? Are you finished? Can I go now fucker?

In a pathetic attempt to show some semblance of control he slams my passport back at me. I look at him with utter distain and contempt. He's taken aback reeling from my bold uncamoflaged disrespect. As I press the accelerator I hold his gaze. I've won, it may seem insignificant but it's the only victory I'll ever have over Homeland Security USA.

Rolling down the dawn highway over an old bridge, rays of warm sunshine streak across the river lighting up the rustic metal spans as I pass through, I crank up the music and sing along, stretching my neck and rolling my shoulders, I feel a calm wash over me. He's gunna be ropeable all day. My singing gains confidence and the road slides smoothly under me. I'm mostly Teflon.