I landed in London early Monday morning. The first thing I did was get into a line for border crossing.
When I arrived at the next available officer the questions began. Why was I in UK? What was my daughter doing in London? How long has she been married? How long was she in UK? Did she have a visa to teach? When would I be leaving?
I should not have said I was visiting my daughter. I should have said I was a tourist. You sometimes put your foot in you mouth. My daughter is a permanent resident with a teaching visa. She is perfectly legal. I was on my way to customs.
I turned a corner to a room with tables on each side. There was no one to be seen. No green light, no red light. No one to be seen. One hundred feet later I was in the terminal.
Straight ahead of me was the coffee shop where I was to meet my daughter. She was traveling via the Underground to guide me home. Tens of drivers holding signs with surnames scribbled upon them waited for their passengers. My name was not on any of them. I thought maybe my daughter changed her mind and sent a driver for me. Didn't see my name, no matter how hard I looked nor how long I waited.
I did need to see a man about a horse, though. I began to walk to the right of the coffee shop looking for the toilets. Half way to the toilets, I spied something that surprised me.
Krispy Kreme donuts in London. Good thing I didn't have any British pounds with me or I would have made a purchase. I visited the loo and walked back to the coffee shop to wait for my daughter.
I paced and paced. I waited almost two hours before I sat at a table near the coffee shop. Then I waited some more. It seems that my flight had a stiff tailwind and arrived one hour early. My daughter didn't leave her apartment until the time my flight was scheduled to arrive at LHR. She left her apartment one hour after my arrival at LHR. The trip on the Underground took one hour and a half. I waited two and one half hours until her arrival. The coffee smelled really good and the Krispy Kreme bar was within eyesight. Good thing I didn't have any British pounds with me.
©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved
I should not have said I was visiting my daughter. I should have said I was a tourist. You sometimes put your foot in you mouth. My daughter is a permanent resident with a teaching visa. She is perfectly legal. I was on my way to customs.
I turned a corner to a room with tables on each side. There was no one to be seen. No green light, no red light. No one to be seen. One hundred feet later I was in the terminal.
I did need to see a man about a horse, though. I began to walk to the right of the coffee shop looking for the toilets. Half way to the toilets, I spied something that surprised me.
I paced and paced. I waited almost two hours before I sat at a table near the coffee shop. Then I waited some more. It seems that my flight had a stiff tailwind and arrived one hour early. My daughter didn't leave her apartment until the time my flight was scheduled to arrive at LHR. She left her apartment one hour after my arrival at LHR. The trip on the Underground took one hour and a half. I waited two and one half hours until her arrival. The coffee smelled really good and the Krispy Kreme bar was within eyesight. Good thing I didn't have any British pounds with me.
©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved
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