A Man, a Girl, a Deserted Island - - A Crazy Epic Love Saga

Episode 10: The Fatties Won't Leave Me Alone

"Why?"

"Because I don't have any. I don't need luggage."

The customs officer puffs up angrily and looks at me with a offended air. Who am I to try to fool her?

"Mister! People going to Thailand always bring luggage. Clothes, towels, toothbrushes..."

"But I don't need a toothbrush."

I put my hand in front of my mouth and blow. I look at the person on my left:

"Does my breath smell?"

The guy looks at me coldly and shrugs. He's resigned to his fate. He and others like him must wait calmly until this round customs lady finishes with me.

"Did you see, madam?" I say to the customs officer with a smile. "My breath doesn't smell, so I don't need a toothbrush or luggage. Case closed."

"That's for me to decide," she grumbles. "What's this? A lighter? Hand it over here! Didn't you know you're not allowed lighters and matches on board?"

"Well, how am I supposed to light my cigarette then?"

A vein on the customs officer's temple swells. She takes a deep breath and responds glacially, as if slowly crushing a worm under her heel:

"You're not allowed to smoke on the plane, so you don't need a lighter. Hand it over!"

The lighter disappears. 

I feel tears of anger welling up. Damn it! How can there be no smoking on the plane? How? Not even in the bathroom?

 Good Lord, what kind of world do we live in?

But the customs officer isn't done with me yet. 

What's her problem, seriously? What more does she want to do to me? A colonoscopy? Finally, I feel my patience wearing thin and I admonish her irritably:

"Listen... uh... I have my passport, my ticket, and my bank card with me. Okay? I consider that's enough. Let others worry about suitcases, towels, backpacks, and bags. I admit, I'm more comfortable this way. Is that a crime? What's the problem?"

"You seem suspicious. That's the problem!"

I burst out laughing. Laughing out loud. The guy on my left takes a step back. I laugh even louder. 

Me suspicious? Me? 

Then I get equally angry and shout at her:

"Listen, madam! What kind of jokes are these? Do you really think a terrorist looks like this? Take a good look at me!"

"Yes, I'm looking!" she fumes. "And?"

"And what do you see? Isn't it clear that I'm a harmless person? I'm peaceful, damn it! If I were a terrorist, with how slowly you move, I'd have time to blow up the airport a hundred times over. But that's not the case! In fact, I'm the one being terrorized here. By you!"

As I speak, I feel myself getting angrier and angrier.

"Mister!" the customs officer shouts at me. "Keep your tone down! Please control yourself!"

"But I'm already very controlled," I respond angrily. "Haven't you controlled me enough? What more do you want to find out? What color my underwear is? Do you think I've hidden an explosive vest there?"

That's it, Tiberiu, my boy! 

You can say many things in an airport, but there are two words you must keep to yourself. Don't say them! If you say them, you're fucked!