I’m at the airport, and for the second time, I’ve got both kidneys with me. I’m such a lucky guy!
Ana didn’t warn me that her younger sister is as big as a tractor. Somehow I managed to escape the room and run down the stairs without fracturing any bones. Now that’s what I call quick thinking!
I carefully examine the departure and arrival board.
Frankfurt?
Bleah! No, thank you.
Germans are such cold people; you feel like your balls are freezing when you talk to them. Well, I don’t personally know any Germans, but I don’t need to. I’m informed! I’ve seen tons of documentaries about the Second World War. Frankfurt sucks!
Palermo?
Mmm… I don’t know, maybe? It’s a wonderful idea, but… not right now. Maybe some other time. If it weren’t December, who knows…
Anyway, Italian women are fiery. I know that for sure. I once saw an Italian porn movie, and it was ‘solid.’
Plus, the Italians in the south have some pretty cool orange plantations. Yummy! And there are also yachts and wonderful coves with crystal-clear waters and probably boats with rowers softly singing O Sole Mio in your ear.
Two years ago, I saw an art film. It was shot right in southern Italy, and it was superb!
Wait a minute, Tiberiu… that movie ended badly. Remember!
There was a scene where a positive character gets hit on the head with a negative oar, then has an anchor tied to his feet and is thrown overboard.
How can you be so reckless, man? No, no! It’s out of the question to go to Italy!
Where’s Dubai on this board?
Stop, Tiberiu, stop! But why on earth are you looking for Dubai? Why? Because Ana told you to?
Don’t you know that women’s advice should always be applied inversely? When a woman tells you to go to Dubai, that means you should run in the exact opposite direction. It’s as clear as day.
Half an hour later, I have a one-way ticket to Thailand in my pocket.
Oh, yes, to Thailand!
My ticket is only for one way. I’d be crazy to ever want to come back.
I’m calm.
I’m at peace with the idea of my definitive and irreversible departure. In fact, I have a never-ending peace within me. I feel like a monk who, after fifty years of fasting and prayers, has received the grace of the Holy Spirit.
Now that I’ve seen my ticket in my pocket, I don’t know if it’s because of Ana’s pills, but everything moves slowly through the airport. It’s like a replay. In slow motion. People, suitcases, even the announcements from the speakers move like honey in a barrel.
I raise my hand and look at it. Wooow! I didn’t know my hand was so interesting. Such delicate fingers!
I analyze it for minutes on end or hours or weeks. I think I could analyze it a lot more, but right now a voice from above tells me that I need to head to the boarding area.
And things start moving much faster. I encounter a chubby customs officer who questions me. She seems upset because she has nothing to check on me.
“How so?” she asks for I don’t know how many times. “You don’t have any luggage?”
“No,” I reply calmly.
“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!
I hadn’t even finished saying ‘explosive vest’ when the train hit me. A big fat guy the size of a locomotive tackled me like in rugby. Another fat guy, also in uniform, jumped on him, and then a third fat guy landed on top of them.
I don’t know by what criteria people are chosen for airport security, but kilograms seem to be one of them.
Lord, please, don’t let this round customs lady throw herself on top of me too, I can’t take it anymore!
I lie on my stomach on the light blue tiles and all I see in front of me is a long, bruised tongue nicely rolled out on the floor. Ugly tongue! How can it be so long? Oh, but that’s my tongue!
How disgusting!
I can’t breathe at all. I’m unable to make a sound. My ribs haven’t cracked yet, but there’s still some creaking here and there. What’s going on here? An airport or a sumo competition?
Above me, the fat guys argue among themselves.
“Does he have an explosive vest?”
“Maybe he does!”
“If he manages to press the button, damn, we’re done for! Don’t let him!”
“I won’t let him!”
“Hold his hands!”
“But I’m holding them!”
“Those are my hands, you idiot!”
“Sorry, boss.”
And so on. I don’t get to hear much more before the movie cuts out. When I come to, I notice that I don’t have any fat guys on top of me anymore. They’ve all disappeared. Vanished into thin air.
A nice old lady takes out a bottle and splashes water on my face.
“Thank you, ma’am!”
People elbow each other around me. Some, braver ones, take out their mobile phones and take pictures with me.
People are just plain idiots. Well… I have to get used to it.
Amidst laughter and all the hustle and bustle, I get up with a groan and return to face the customs officer’s counter.
“So, shall we continue?” I ask.
The woman looks at me squarely, then sighs and gestures to a colleague.
“Take care of him, I can’t deal with this anymore.”
This time things move faster.
“You don’t have any luggage?”
I hope this guy isn’t an idiot too.
“No, I don’t.”
“Very well. You’ll have less trouble. But do you have a visa for Thailand?”
Aha! This customs officer surely isn’t an idiot. I’m the idiot. I want to enter Thailand without a visa.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, smiling. “It’s okay if you don’t have a visa.”
He calmly and kindly explains to me that I can get a temporary visa upon arrival, that visa is valid for fifteen days, and it’s only granted if the ticket is round-trip.
And mine is only one way.
I look at him gratefully. Look, finally, a human being! Not all people are idiots. I have to get used to this idea.
“I’ll be back!” I say quickly, pulling out my card from my pocket. “Check the others while I’m gone.”
I move at lightning speed. In less than ten minutes, I come back waving the second ticket, the return ticket.
Now I’m okay. The kind customs officer wishes me a good trip. So the Bible isn’t quite right. There is indeed a kind customs officer!
“Can I have my lighter back, please?” I ask hopefully. “I’ll be waiting another three hours in the boarding area. I’m going to get bored.”
“It’s not possible,” he responds with amusement.
Fuck the customs officer! I knew the Bible wasn’t lying!
The three hours pass very slowly. I make all sorts of promises to myself. I tell myself that I’ll find cherry-scented tobacco in Thailand. I heard it exists from someone. Or I’ll buy rolling papers for ten dollars each. Or I’ll…
“Please prepare for boarding!”
Well, enough dreaming! From now on, I’ll start living my dreams for real. The time has come.
Thailand, are you there? Beware, I’m coming!
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