{"id":90,"date":"2007-09-17T13:02:37","date_gmt":"2007-09-17T12:02:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bakkerbugle.com\/blog\/2007\/09\/17\/now-i-do-hate-the-british\/"},"modified":"2007-09-17T13:21:58","modified_gmt":"2007-09-17T12:21:58","slug":"now-i-do-hate-the-british","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/bakkerbugle.com\/blog\/2007\/09\/17\/now-i-do-hate-the-british\/","title":{"rendered":"Now I do hate the British"},"content":{"rendered":"

Many times, the cheapest airfare back to Dublin includes a connection through Heathrow. My experiences with Heathrow have not been positive. Last week, however, I had an extraordinary exchange with the UK’s immigration service.
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\nMind you, my experience is innocuous in comparison with asylum seekers, wearers of traditional dress, and many “foreign-looking” unfortunates. So my tale feels a little silly. But the victims of my re-telling in person seem to think it is hilarious. So here goes.<\/p>\n

I landed in Heathrow from JFK and moved toward my connecting flight to Dublin. \"\"<\/a>Heathrow’s security is efficient but overwhelmed by the sheer number of passengers and the stringent application of ever-escalating regulations. I don’t object to that, although I think security theatre<\/a> is<\/a> a farce<\/a>.<\/p>\n

The line for immigration and customs, however, was much longer than I expected. There’s a line for EU and UK passport-holders, which moved as smoothly as the First-Class security lines in the US. I stood in the line for Everybody Else. It was the first line I’d seen that overwhelmed the British love for filling waiting areas<\/a> with those familiar fabric stockades<\/a>.<\/p>\n

I had no desire to step on UK soil (especially with hoof-and-mouth on the loose again<\/a>), so I wasn’t happy to wait in line with the international students, weary families, and few business-types who sought entry to the promised land. I was not impressed at all by the sign that I saw as I neared the immigration desks: “Due to new regulations, it may take longer to enter our country. Cheers, the UK authorities.” I don’t want to enter your country, you arrogant Brits.<\/p>\n

I also ignored the “Entry Questionnaire” that read, “For those seeking entry to the UK.” But the nice person at the head of the line asked me to fill one anyway. No problem, really — Ireland and its residents benefit, on the whole, from passing these bureaucratic duties to the UK. As with all such paperwork, the slip had some enigmatic categories, but it was generally clear.<\/p>\n

While in line, I’d looked at my Irish visa stamp (which took some work to obtain). It says:<\/p>\n

Permitted to remain in Ireland on conditions that the holder does not enter employment, does not engage in any business or profession and does not remain later than 29\/8\/08. For Minister for Justice, Equality & Law Reform.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

So, in the box marked Occupation, I wrote “None.” It seemed like the prudent choice. Much better than writing, “You’re still sitting<\/a> on the Six Counties<\/a>,” which wouldn’t please anyone.<\/p>\n

I finally approached the desk of an immigration official and handed over my passport and questionnaire. She immediately noticed my lack of an Occupation. Here’s what followed:<\/p>\n