Immigration is a Bitch!

Immigration is a bitch! There is a high security alert and the airport is a scene of frenzied activity. I am asked to step aside and grilled for twenty minutes about everything from my place of work to what I did in Dublin. Finally, the guy decides that I am not suicidal enough and lets me through.  I am flying Delta for the first time and probably the last. They serve us a cold meal and then whiz past with the wine so quickly that no one has a chance to partake. I decline, mainly because I am never asked. I wonder if the airlines realize what their cheap cost cutting measures actually cost them. I for one am never flying Delta again if I can help it. There is a cost to cutting costs and many times it ends up being more expensive than what you save, but this is mostly lost in today’s corporate world where everybody works in silos and just wants to make their numbers.

I finally board the plane. I am seated by the window and next to me is an enormous woman with her young daughter. The plane takes off and the daughter promptly goes to sleep on my shoulder. I sit unmoving. After a while, I realize that the kid takes after her mother – she is heavy. My arm goes to sleep, but the rest of me cannot. I staunchly grin and bear it. It’s going to be a long flight!

Chicago is freezing but I am somewhat acclimatized by now. The drive to Milwaukee WI seems to take forever. Even in the dark I can see Obama’s stimulus dollars at work. There are orange flags every few miles or so and large signs that tell me that hitting a road worker could get me 14 years in jail. I slow down. The freeway is blocked off in one place and I am asked to detour. I am not worried – I have my trusty GPS to guide me. We go through the usual lefts and rights of any detour and my GPS asks me to enter the freeway. Drat, this entrance is closed too. This happens a couple of times before I realize that the GPS is bringing me back to the same freeway entrance every time. So much for technology; I switch off the GPS and decide to rely on the road signs instead. And before you ask, no I had not had a drink; in my defense, it was dark and raining and I had just got off a 16 hour plane journey.

A good day’s work at Milwaukee, a nice dinner and a night of solid drinking. The barmen in Wisconsin sure know how to pour a drink. The morning dawns bright and clear and it’s time for my drive back to Chicago. I get the exit row (see, United is better than Delta) which is a lot more comfortable and I catch up on my sleep. The drive from Portland to Corvallis is nostalgic. It feels like I’m coming home.