Coming to America

I’m in line at customs.  The lady ahead of me greets the passport official with a “hi.”  He says nothing.

I really want to try to greet people in the States like we do in Namibia.  I admire the custom and hope it can potentially brighten someone’s day.  Maybe it could even get the silent man to crack a smile.

When it’s my turn, I ask him, “How does it feel to be working in an airport over the holidays?”
“Horrible.”  His face is dead.  His voice is dead.
I chuckle nervously and shake my head.  “I can’t imagine.”
“Every holiday season.  Twelve-hour days.”
“And during this shift, too!”  I check my watch: 6:55 a.m.  “My gosh.”
He finishes checking my passport and wordlessly hands it back to me.
“Well…” I say.  “Have a good day.”  He is silent.

Welcome to America.

As I walk away, I remind myself, Not everyone in America hates their life.  …Maybe just the ones who work in airports.

With an eight-hour layover in D.C., I wander around the huge airport.  I can tell we’re in a recession because I pass only four Starbucks on the way to my gate.  With an old gift card, I purchase one coffee beverage after another.  I deliberately get high, then continue walking around dizzily.

Cranky customs man is outnumbered by other friendly people, like the gentleman who accidentally heads into the women’s restroom (don’t worry, he wasn’t friendly like that), or the cashiers who say, “Hi, how are you?” (even if it is in a rushed voice).  I notice there are a lot more “thank you”s than I’m used to overseas.  (I will say my students are getting better about using the phrase, though.)

I like how often Americans say “thank you.”  I like laughing to myself at how ridiculous some American accents sound (I don’t want to point fingers, but I did have a connection in Minneapolis).  I like the feel of these funny bills in my hands again—the currency is all green and it’s big, as opposed to what Namibia’s money looks like.  Things are both familiar and new.

After five flights and about 48 hours of traveling, I hug my family again.
I’m not sure when I cried more—the time I said good-bye or the time I said hello.
I’m home.

And there was evening, and there was morning. The first day.

Snowflake sweater says it's gonna be a good day.