If I didn't face guantanamo time for doing so, I'd have fought back

Right before boarding my flight back to the states Sunday afternoon, I was stopped for the 3rd time in order for my luggage to be checked. The lady with whom I’d struck up a conversation glided on ahead.

“Hey!” I teased the guard. “How come you didn’t stop that lady in front of me?”

“Because madam,” he beamed, “de pretty ones dey is always guilty.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

5 hours later, I landed at JFK. The realization that I was back in this cold filthy city already had my heart sinking, but I did my best to remain optimistic. I mean given the send off I got, I half expected the customs officer to hug me and yell “welcome back to the states, Gorgeous!” for all my fellow passengers to hear.

Instead, he looked at my passport, then looked at me, then back again at my passport and paused gravely. I was half worried he was going to pull some patriot act bullshit on me and take my finger prints, but then I looked down at my blazer and pearls and thought, well that’s just silly. No one arrests a girl in pearls.

“You shouldn’t-ha wown sunglasses,” he scoffed in his I’m a Staten island badass tone.

“Um, Excuse me?” I replied, worrying that I’d missed some new regulation whereby you could now only get thru security complete nude (we’re getting there kids- that woman who was forced to remove her nipple ring at security? Atrocious. Next the alleged terr-rists will be hiding bombs in nipple clamps and vibrating cock rings).

“Ya glasses,” he repeated, “I betchu were wearin’ them big fucking Diors? Look at ya tan- its all uneven- ha HA!” He elbowed his fellow officer in the rib and pointed at me.

This was not the welcome I’d expected.

In fact, I think it deserves a post on the White Graves stall. This is the first one actually directed toward the Po-leece so I think it gets special commendation, like a picture of a bum or something unsightly next to it. I’ll leave the imagery up to you- surely you have sicker imaginations than I. Anyway:

Dear Officer,

Hi!

I just wanted to thank you for the unsolicited advice. I’m glad you failed to notice the pair of scissors, 2 razors, 4 ounces of lotion (4 ounces! Ha! I’m such a badass), cartons of undeclared cigarettes and ounce of ganj I had in my bag because my face was so horrifically discolored that you felt the need to make a joke of it. Thanks for killing my post vacation high you lousy sack of shit.

However, I wanted to commend you on your knowledge of choice luxury brands, even if I do happen to find Dior a little tacky. Your girlfriend must have been that materialistic burnt orange chick on “True Life: I’m a Staten Island Girl,” and let me tell you, she’s taught you well. She also probably has an even tan- because beds tend to give that even sheen- but that’s neither here nor there.

Yours,
Girl