Congratulations America, YOU’RE A DICK!

I’ve always had this carping feeling that America doesn’t like me much. A perfect example would be the time I landed in LAX a couple of weeks ago: After a monster 12-hour flight from Manila to Los Angeles–a flight that left me, surprisingly, tired, sleepless and high as a kite because of the tranquilizer tablets I took in flight–the Immigration officer, instead of stamping me right through deemed it necessary to send me over to secondary for admissibility review. Apparently, the fact that I “Speak English too well” and that I had a newly issued passport with me raised some flags. (Or I dunno, maybe because of THIS and THIS?)

Admissibility review is a section immigration officers send people who range from naturalized American citizens who’ve been out of the country for dubiously long periods of time to those whose identities are questionable.

I thought to myself: “Hey, it can’t be that bad, I just need to tell them that it’s normal for a lot of Filipinos to speak fluent english, idiots. And maybe I have a new passport because I didn’t need one until now and got it for the sole purpose of this trip? Again, idiots.”

Boy, was I wrong.

Admissibility review was a fucking prison. Just to give you an idea of how it was in AR, I approached an INS officer and kindly asked him if I could go out for a few minutes to buy some food because I was starving. His response was “SIT DOWN SIR!” his right hand touching his holstered sidearm to make a point. Dick.

Also, there was a time during my stay at AR when I badly needed to go to the restroom. So again, I asked an INS officer and asked if I could use the restroom; reluctantly, he said allowed me to and asked one of his colleagues to escort me and a party of Mexicans to the restroom.

And really, nothing else tells you that you’ve got it bad more than taking a piss with 5 Mexican guys while you’re being watched closely–too closely, in fact–by an armed Immigration officer.

The entire AR process stranded me for an additional 5 hours in LAX.

(Seriously, America, I know you’re still sore at my ancestors for selling you the Philippines for several million dollars and the country not turning out the way you expected it to be, but this entire AR thing is taking it a little too far.

Also, that bit I told the first immigration officer about me losing my original passport in North Korea during my stay there to take flying lessons and get explosives training was a Joke. You know, as in Ha-Ha?

Dicks.)

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