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My brush with the law at a USA airport

By Genevieve Richards

I recently flew into Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International airport from London.  I was heading to LA for a wedding and had an hour stop-over there before catching my connecting flight to LAX.

As this was my eleventh international flight this year I am accustomed to passing through the numerous and stringent security checks and then customs without a hitch. Even my trip to New York in April posed no problems apart from the fact that I always beep when going through the metal detector, always. This is because of the five gold bangles I wear, and have done since I received them as a gift on my 21st birthday.  The have never been taken off, and I honestly doubt if they would come off even if I tried to remove them.  Like I usually do, to avoid any further delay, I indicated to airport security staff that I would “beep” when I went through and they should be ready to pat me down and do the necessary other checks.    I stepped through the detector and….beeped…

Like all the other security staff I have encountered on my travels, the woman who stepped over to carry out the checks took one look at my bangles, smiled knowingly and carried on with the inspection.  I know the drill and accordingly assumed “the position”: stand on the mat printed with two feet, put my feet on the corresponding stencils and raise my arms to shoulder height with my palms facing up.  Wait while the security guard uses a hand-held metal detector and checks for any other metal I may have on my body and when this is finished, without hiccough, I wait for her to pat me down - again without problem.  Then I show my left foot, sole up, followed by the right and when I get the all clear collect my hand luggage and handbag from the conveyor belt.

So far so good, and all according to plan.  I then followed the directions to the customs hall and, as usual, unwittingly chose the slowest, most frustrating queue.  After an age it was my turn.  I smiled, handed over my passport and received a frown in response.  I was then stamped into the country but told to stand to the side as I would need to speak to someone in customs and immigration.  Apparently I was an “assisted recovery”, whatever that meant.

I was then taken into the customs office where I waited for “someone from downstairs” to come and question me.  By this time I was quite nervous, not about being questioned, but about missing my connecting flight to LA.  And, anyone who has faced the Heathrow airport customs officials as many times as I have over the years will understand my lack of fear – Heathrow customs officials are, without a doubt, the most fearsome species on the planet, bar none!

Finally the official in assisted recovery came up and I was summoned to the front of the office.  He greeted me in a rather terse fashion and began paging through my passport, never once making eye contact or even seeming to acknowledge my presence beside him.  After a minute or so he started the questions: Which country had I arrived from? Where is my country of residence?  In which country was I born? What was the purpose of my visit to the USA? Where was I going on to?  Have I ever fired a gun?  Have I ever been to a Middle Eastern country?

Whaaatttt???   I answered: London, UK, South Africa, a wedding, going on to LA, I have never fired a gun, and no I had never been to a Middle Eastern country…..then, the penny dropped….Oh, wait, do they class Turkey as a Middle Eastern country?  I asked him just that and seeing the confusion on my face he looked at me for the first time and actually started laughing. Here I was sweating profusely and thinking that there was some huge problem and he was laughing!   I told him I have indeed been to Turkey twice this year – on holiday both times: firstly for a week in July and then again for another 6 days in September.  He asked where I went and how I had liked it and I told him I loved it there. It is such a lovely, un-spoilt country, the people are amazingly friendly and that I really enjoyed going there.  We then “chatted” a bit more about Turkey’s gorgeous beaches and azure waters and it was then I realised that my brush with law was over.

He then glanced down at the boarding card for my connecting flight which he was still holding and realised I was going to miss it if he didn’t hurry things along. He then very kindly escorted me through all the cordoned off areas of the arrivals hall and straight to the boarding gate of my connecting flight where I was almost the last passenger to embark.  After all that I had just been through I was really pleased that I had my suitcase with me as hand luggage (on US flights the hand luggage allowance is enormous!) and hadn’t needed to visit the baggage hall and claim my bag before heading off to my connecting flight. Had I needed to do that, I would definitely have spent a few extra unscheduled hours in Atlanta.

It was only once I was airborne and on my way to California that I realised I had never received any answer to my question of why I had been pulled over.  But, I think it might have been for several reasons:  I was travelling on a South African passport even though I have lived in the UK for nearly 10 years (I just haven’t gotten around to getting my British passport yet); I was coming into the USA for the second time in six months; I had two visas for a Middle Eastern country in my passport; and because of my Greek ancestry and dark colouring I could pass for a Middle Eastern woman.

Not a great combination in this day and age of extra vigilance, I have come to appreciate, and while I can’t exactly change my colouring, I have now decided to apply for my British passport post haste…at least that will be one less thing to worry about when flying into US air space again!

Bio:

Genevieve Richards was born and educated in South Africa and has lived in London since 1995. A graduate in public relations and journalism, she has now branched out into freelance writing.

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