I write to you from immigration jail.
It’s a cold place. Unforgiving. Dull. Quiet. Like your mother-in-law. Only with wireless internet access. Go figure.
It seems as though I should’ve taken this whole Resident Card-Visa-Expiring-Penalty-of-Being-Locked-Out-Of-The-Country-For-Ten-Years thing a little more seriously.
And you of me a little less.
Let’s start from the beginning. We haven't talked in awhile.
You see, I moved here to take a job where I educate people. And that’s funny ‘cause I don’t know much about what I teach. But that’s OK because the view kicks ass and the women don’t understand a word I say.
I've BS'd my way through a lot of things. Here's another one. After getting plundered and pillaged at immigration in Heathrow, I walked through about 10 minutes later, looking over my shoulder, shaking, with an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Not because I lied about half the questions asked of me, but because of that guilty feeling you get when someone is convinced you’re guilty and in turn, convinces you that whatever it is you’re doing or thinking of doing is wrong and in the name of the War on Terror you’d sure as shit better stop it right now. It’s that feeling you get after spending a weekend in Vegas. Only there’s fewer Arabs in Vegas.
As unbelievably fun as this week was, I did learn a few things. Now that I have time to reflect, I’d like to share with you a few lessons learned.
First up, it’s important to lay the law down quickly with your students. Let them know they’re your Bitches, and lead them to believe that what you're doing hurts you more than it hurts them. And then follow that up with a South Park video on Evolution.
Second, and this one’s important. No matter what you do or how smart your mama thinks you are, under no circumstances should you, the teacher, EVER go out in a foreign country and do a Pub Quiz with your indigenous students. Out of 70 questions, I was able to contribute answers to two of them. Unless you know a lot about cricket, knighthood, local churches, English music and art, I suggest you stay the fu*k back in your hotel room and grade papers. It’ll save you the time and humiliation of having to look for your testicles after last call.
Third, the Welsh can’t hold their liquor. No wonder they lost the war with the Norwegians.
?
Fourth, the words, ‘Rubbish,’ and ‘Wankered,’ can be used as terms of endearment and appropriate references to how drunk one is, respectively. I always thought the n. Wanker was something someone got slapped with, but apparently, after you introduce an Irish Car Bomb to the group, the word takes on an entirely different meaning. And so as not to offend anyone due to the geographical proximity to Ireland and the subsequent head-pounding felt by many, the shot was more appropriately named, The Iraqi Car Bomb.
Fifth, when the group gives you a bottle of Jamison, a bottle of Bailey’s and a pint of Guiness as a ‘Thank You’ gift, you either had a positive effect on their learning experience, or you had better reevaluate your teaching methods prior to your 1-year review.
In the end, it’s best to over-prepare. Like what kind of BS story you’re going to tell immigration in France why you’re back with an expired Visa and no Resident Card. And while you could avoid the whole situation entirely by flying through Frankfurt ‘cause their passport control only checks for a valid passport, knowing that the pearly gates just beyond extend open arms to any and all who seek any safe passage into the EU, it’s sometimes just more fun to take the chance and sacrifice yourself for a good blog post.
Alas, I haven’t one. For I sit here in the comfort of my own home, fortunate to not have my expired Visa discovered. Also, which one of you rubbish Wankers forgot to fill my fridge?
It’s a cold place. Unforgiving. Dull. Quiet. Like your mother-in-law. Only with wireless internet access. Go figure.
It seems as though I should’ve taken this whole Resident Card-Visa-Expiring-Penalty-of-Being-Locked-Out-Of-The-Country-For-Ten-Years thing a little more seriously.
And you of me a little less.
Let’s start from the beginning. We haven't talked in awhile.
You see, I moved here to take a job where I educate people. And that’s funny ‘cause I don’t know much about what I teach. But that’s OK because the view kicks ass and the women don’t understand a word I say.
I've BS'd my way through a lot of things. Here's another one. After getting plundered and pillaged at immigration in Heathrow, I walked through about 10 minutes later, looking over my shoulder, shaking, with an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Not because I lied about half the questions asked of me, but because of that guilty feeling you get when someone is convinced you’re guilty and in turn, convinces you that whatever it is you’re doing or thinking of doing is wrong and in the name of the War on Terror you’d sure as shit better stop it right now. It’s that feeling you get after spending a weekend in Vegas. Only there’s fewer Arabs in Vegas.
As unbelievably fun as this week was, I did learn a few things. Now that I have time to reflect, I’d like to share with you a few lessons learned.
First up, it’s important to lay the law down quickly with your students. Let them know they’re your Bitches, and lead them to believe that what you're doing hurts you more than it hurts them. And then follow that up with a South Park video on Evolution.
Second, and this one’s important. No matter what you do or how smart your mama thinks you are, under no circumstances should you, the teacher, EVER go out in a foreign country and do a Pub Quiz with your indigenous students. Out of 70 questions, I was able to contribute answers to two of them. Unless you know a lot about cricket, knighthood, local churches, English music and art, I suggest you stay the fu*k back in your hotel room and grade papers. It’ll save you the time and humiliation of having to look for your testicles after last call.
Third, the Welsh can’t hold their liquor. No wonder they lost the war with the Norwegians.
?
Fourth, the words, ‘Rubbish,’ and ‘Wankered,’ can be used as terms of endearment and appropriate references to how drunk one is, respectively. I always thought the n. Wanker was something someone got slapped with, but apparently, after you introduce an Irish Car Bomb to the group, the word takes on an entirely different meaning. And so as not to offend anyone due to the geographical proximity to Ireland and the subsequent head-pounding felt by many, the shot was more appropriately named, The Iraqi Car Bomb.
Fifth, when the group gives you a bottle of Jamison, a bottle of Bailey’s and a pint of Guiness as a ‘Thank You’ gift, you either had a positive effect on their learning experience, or you had better reevaluate your teaching methods prior to your 1-year review.
In the end, it’s best to over-prepare. Like what kind of BS story you’re going to tell immigration in France why you’re back with an expired Visa and no Resident Card. And while you could avoid the whole situation entirely by flying through Frankfurt ‘cause their passport control only checks for a valid passport, knowing that the pearly gates just beyond extend open arms to any and all who seek any safe passage into the EU, it’s sometimes just more fun to take the chance and sacrifice yourself for a good blog post.
Alas, I haven’t one. For I sit here in the comfort of my own home, fortunate to not have my expired Visa discovered. Also, which one of you rubbish Wankers forgot to fill my fridge?
