"Welcome to America" I muttered to myself as I stomped off the aeroplane. Security was conspicuous; lots of short, fat policemen lounged against walls squinting at us passengers. There ought to be a law against arming short, fat men and giving them a badge allowing them to shoot anyone who looks at them funny.
Newark Liberty Airport excelled itself. It took an hour until I found myself fingerprinted by a pig-eyed immigration official. Another hour until my bag appeared on the luggage carousel. And a further hour until the customs officials admitted that their x-ray machine was broken. Lord alone knows why they wanted to x-ray my luggage again. Presumably in case an evil pixie had smuggled weapons into my bag mid-flight.
My colleagues had left a message for me. "The taxi is a big pink bus" they'd said. I'd assumed they meant a light red minivan. But no - it really was a big pink bus. And so I had the most surreal arrival at the US office on record.
Oh, and the bus had a couple of ice-boxes full of beer when I boarded. There was only ice when I left.
