Coming to America

Well, I’m back finally, meaning that my next few posts are probably going be about my trip. But this first one isn’t about being out, but rather, coming back.

The first thing to hit upon reentering my country of residence is that customs here in faggotry in its most distilled form. In Japan, customs was nothing; the worst of my troubles was wondering which of my secret agent passports to use (I have dual nationality between Japan and the U.S.). All you have to do is walk up to the counter, show your passport, and look pretty. You don’t even have to speak Japanese, just say “thank you” in your language of preference when the agent gives any form of vague affirmative.

In U.S. customs, (insert foreboding music here), well, the best way to describe the experience is to say I’m fucking glad I speak English. The worst part isn’t having to alternately show your boarding pass and passport at least three times, nor is it standing in lines as long as Chuck Norris’ cock, nor is it the interrogation at security. The worst part is going through all this while dealing with people who appear to be in the service of the Prince of Darkness. Really, really unfriendly people, the type you’d expect to see working a back alley Burger King. Really unfriendly people, people who either are screaming at you like a drill sergeant giving birth or glaring at you like you’re going to infect them with fucking bird flu. You might not think of this as such a big deal, but if you’ve just come from Japan, where anyone wearing anything resembling a uniform is apparently required by law to be friendly and helpful, it’s really a shock. Now imagine having that shock and NOT KNOWING WHAT THE HELL THESE DEMONS ARE SAYING. Fucking glad I speak English.

Oh, and the 12-hour flight to reach this steaming bowl of hell didn’t exactly prep me for it.

The second thing to hit me upon my arrival here was that Americans are FAT. Christ is metal, how did I not notice prior to the trip to the land of thin people that everyone here is frighteningly obese? I don’t think I need to write any more on the subject as anyone reading this can probably gather their own evidence by taking a quick trot down a sidewalk. Or just look in a mirror. Yeah, I’m talking to you, Tubby.

All in all, flying internationally has been as much of a pain in the blubber as I feared it might be, and frankly, I’m not entirely convinced that the time in Japan was worth it. Sad, but true.