"I suggest you just stop talking"

“On behalf of our crew here on US Airways, Welcome to Manchester”

When the captain said those words it felt official. I had made it. I was finally in England. After a month of anticipation, my journey through Europe was about to begin. I deboarded and got in the long customs line.

I was excited as I waited, a little anxious too maybe. I observed other people walk up to their customs agent, answer a couple questions, have their passport stamped and be on their way. Easy enough, I thought. When I finally stepped up the questions started pouring in...

How long will you be in England? I’m not sure exactly, maybe 3-4 weeks.

How much money do you have on you? 50 dollars

Do you have a return ticket? Not yet

Do you have a debit card? Yes

With how much money on it? About 50 dollars right now

Why don’t you have a return ticket? Well I’m not sure when or from where I’ll be leaving. I’ll be doing some traveling.

But you only have 50 dollars? Yea, I’ll be getting some money in my account in the next couple days.

Do you have proof of that? Umm, no I don’t.

How do I know you won’t stay and work? Because I can’t stay. I have to go back. I just got a job in Memphis

And how will you eat and have shelter here? My friend Annie

Where does he live? She… and York

So your friend Andy lives in York? Annie… and yes

How do you know her? We met in Peru

When? Summer 2009

Do you have a phone number for her? Yea (I give it to her)

Ok, I’m gonna have to go talk to my boss. OK…

It was actually kind of impressive how fast she could fire off so many questions. Even though I was telling the truth, it made me feel like I was lying if I ever paused for a second to think before answering.

Ten minutes later she returns and we go through the same dance. She asks me how Annie and I met, what she does, what my intentions in Europe are, what are future career plans are, blah blah blah. I assume she had called Annie and was checking to see if our stories lined up.

Again she had to go “talk to her boss” At this point I’m looking at my surroundings, sizing up the probable speed and agility of the security guard, thinking “What would Jason Bourne do?” I refrain from doing what I conclude Jason Bourne would do and just take a seat. I wonder if the race card plays in England.

After another ten minutes go by she finally emerges again.

I’m not supposed to let you through. You don’t have enough money to get back and have no proof you’re not planning on coming here to stay and work… but it’s your lucky day. If you’re not gone in six months we’ll find you, she says as she stamps a special stamp in my passport and writes in it that I have to be gone in less than six months.

Never have I been so relieved. As she was writing the special instructions in my passport, I was dumb enough to open my mouth again

So if my plans happen to change somehow, should I contact you?

She glances up slowy with a face the says “do you want to get in or not?” What do you mean “if your plans happen to change?"

I shrug. I don’t know, if something comes up and my plans change, or…

Look, she interrupts, I suggest you just stop talking.

I heed her advice. She lets me through and points me to baggage claim.

Phew. Welcome to Manchester, indeed.