The face of USA

 LOS ANGELES, California  - “We are the face of the Nation” – that is the big sign that confronts arriving passengers at the Immigration Area here as we join the snaking line of hundreds, possibly thousands who go through this each day. One shifts from one foot to the other while leaning on one’s hand-carried bag to patiently wait for one’s turn to be grilled and maybe mocked a bit by the interviewing officers.

Well, that is supposed to be the way as one encounters the face of America. I wish, though, that America would have a little more patience with the elderly who come in. As soon as we landed, my cousins Tutay and Marissa Corral and I were approached by an old gentleman who asked for instructions on where he was to proceed. Earlier we saw him talking to a uniformed person, probably an airport security officer but my guess is that he could not understand the accent, or couldn’t hear well. He was in his late eighties, I think.

But most of the staff were quite efficient, although a bit curt. If one gets the feeling of being herded like sheep, that’s because we are used to the “malambing” Ilonggo accent. Me, I just entertained myself by watching all my fellow sheep from all kinds of nationalities, trying to cope. There were quite a lot of families and they were the ones who took longer to “process”.

It would have helped, though, if there were people assigned to pre-check the forms before the interviews because I noted that some had to get off the line when it was found out that the information they supplied was incomplete. When my turn came, I braced myself for the questions but surprisingly, got away very quickly. I guess the guy noted that my passport was almost full of stamped ingress and egresses, so I must be a safe character. Truth to tell, I even felt disappointed when he didn’t take my picture or fingerprint me.

But it was a different story at the exit. After clearing Customs – where I was doubly careful having seen a relative being stopped for having signature luggage, I even wore my oldest watch to be sure I had the genuine stuff. There is a new system, though, that was not practiced last year. After customs check, we had to have our things go through X-ray again. The guy in charge must be an expert in Pinoy travel habits, in a loud voice he asked the group before me, “Are you bringing adobo? embutido? longganisa? balut?”

I think he forgot to ask me that because I asked him to help me lift my balikbayan boxes. `I’ll get reprimanded for doing that,’ he grumbled. Well, I said I couldn’t lift them myself and he can just tell his boss I’m a frail senior citizen, `Well..’ he said as he struggled with the box full of salted peanuts, mango and macapuno tarts and barquillos, `Why do you have to bring so many things, anyway?’ I kept my peace and thanked him nicely, while murmuring, `anyway I didn’t bring adobo, longganiza, or balut..’ before joining my anxious welcomers Allan and Lourdes Gomez at the gate*

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