Coming Home

It had been a long trip, nearly two months in the end; but I was glad to be back, even though the passport queue seemed to be moving like a disabled snail.

Some in the queue seemed to have something to say about the recent election, I’d – luckily – missed most of it whilst I was away and when the volcano erupted what little interest I had in the election had lost out to finding out when flights would resume so I could get home before my money ran out.

Eventually, though, I got to the front of the queue and inserted my new passport into the machine.

It didn’t come out. I could see over on the other side of the machine the reflection of a red light flashing. I tried to get my passport from the machine, assuming I’d put it in the wrong way up or something like that, but the machine would not release it. Neither would the machine release either of the turnstiles the exit or the entry one for me to do anything but stand there helpless, like a dick.

Eventually, a uniformed official came across and glanced down at the screen on her side of the passport control machine.

‘Ah,’ she said.

‘What? Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Did I do it wrong, only it is the first time I’ve used one of these machines.’

She opened a gate to one side of the machine. ‘Come with me, please.’ That please didn’t sound like a request.

As we walked down the corridor, I noticed she was carrying my passport. As we walked, she attached it to a clipboard.

‘I suppose you get a lot of this sort of thing, what with these new passports,’ I said, trying to be pleasant about what was obviously some sort of administrative cock-up.

‘In here, please, sir,’ she said, again with the empty tone of her voice at odds with the superficially pleasant words she used.

The room contained a few chairs and a table. The table had some sort of recording device on it. The sort of thing you see in TV detective programmes for recording the interrogation of the suspect. I noticed in the corner of the room, by the ceiling, there was a CCTV camera with its red light glowing.

She glanced at her watch.’ My shift is over now, but someone will be in to see you shortly, sir. Please take a seat and someone will be along.’ She left me alone in the room.

I sat and waited.

I waited for a long time.

The sudden noise of the door opening woke me up. ‘About time,’ I said.

‘What?’ the cleaner said. ‘They’ve all gone on strike, mate. They’ve probably forgotten all about you. If I was you I’d piss off before they come back.’

I just stared at him.

‘Just go. I’m not pissing you about. I mean it.’ His face turned solemn. ‘Seriously, mate, you don’t want to be here when they get back. Things have changed here, lately. Go on, fuck off while you can.’

I picked up what belongings I had and ran. ‘Thanks,’ I said from halfway down the corridor, but the cleaner just raised his hand, gesturing for me to go.

So, I did.