Secure in Anne’s World

Published: November 14th, 2007

Flashback to a New York City trip a couple years ago. I was passing through U.S. immigration at Pearson, and getting a look from the border guard that could only be described as “askance.” (If you’ve ever gotten that look from an INS official, you’ll know what I mean.) My paperwork came back to me in a big red clipboard, which, I soon discovered, is Not Good.

I was ushered off to a small, secure anteroom off the immigration hallway, with rows of seating that might accommodate 50-odd, but were on this day pressed into service seating one. A strapping young uniformed lad sat at a computer, maintaining an impressively indifferent attitude to his only, um, customer. He left me to squirm for about 15 minutes before calling me up.

“Take off the sunglasses,” he demanded. I did. A camera flashed.

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