Dear U.S Customs
Can you stop searching me already? Seriously. I’m not a drug mule and I don’t carry weapons – unless you count my flying fist of fury, which I’m likely to give the next person that searches me.
As I get to the security check for my flight to Philly on the weekend, no sooner had I put my bags on the table than some chick grabbed my boarding pass and said she would be giving me a body search and going through my bags.
“May I ask why?” I enquire.
“It’s just a secondary search,” she tells me.
“Well, you haven’t done the primary one yet.”
Why can I not object to being searched? Do I not have a right to know why I’m being singled out – why I’m always singled out? Are people with freckles and long dark hair posing a huge threat to your national security nowadays?
You know what? You don’t even have to tell me. I know why. It’s because of my impeccable sense of style. The chicks who do the searches see my nice outfit and want to know what I have in my bags. Nosey bitches.
Then comes the body search. I’m not joking when I say I felt violated. I was molested by security. They felt my boobs! And my ass! In front of people! At least take me out to dinner first. You know what that is that you’re feeling around my boobs? No, it’s not a kilo of cocaine – it’s padding, bitch. I’m a B cup. I need a little assistance. So shoot me.
You know how we clear U.S border control in Toronto? Well, you might want to get the memo out to your staff there that technically, they’re still on our turf, so they might want to play nice.
It’s really not necessary to perform a ten minute inquisition over a 48 hour visit to Philadelphia. All you need to know is that I will be spending money there, contributing to your economy, which I understand, is currently in the shitter. Hey, no problem, you’re welcome.
I even told the border control person to ‘have a nice day’, because I notice people in North America say this all the frikkin’ time. She had no response. Well, you know what? I’m British and I really couldn’t give two craps what kind of day you have, but you could at least crack a smile, bitch.
So next time, if I could just be waved through with a high five, a coke and a smile, it’d be much appreciated.
Sincerely,
Bangs
Tags: customs, the US of A
