Lingua non-franca

In the airport: “Ma’am, you have been selected for a special screening this morning. Follow me please, right this way”.

So I got to hop the queue to the front, only to be taken to a “special” area at the back (I had been selected, after all) where every corner of my hand luggage (carry-on, they call it) was carefully combed and swabbed and wiped and fingered. When they were happy that I was not concealing any explosives, it was all put back in the neatest order and with a big smile, “Miss Hansen, you are good to go. You have yourself a pleasant flight, now.”

There is something very disconcerting about all this pleasantness and politesse while being treated like a criminal. Like the signs at passport control in Washington which pledge to explain security measures to anyone who might not understand them. Pledge?

More wierdness: you order coffee and a bagel and, “Will that be all for y’all today?”
Uhm, for today, yes. But I guess this is a place of locals, people who return, so there’s a point in differentiating today from tomorrow. Or maybe y’all are just wierd.

Time now to leave this land of carbohydrates. Still, I may return.

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