Final Round

With my ticket in hand I proceed to security rationalizing my new purchase in realizing I can always dispute the charges with my credit card company. The line moves well enough and I am the lucky winner of the full body search. My bags are torn apart in front of me: sans shoes, belt, coat, and dignity. Next up passport control. More problems. I hand the woman my passport and boarding pass. The toad of a woman, roughly resembling Madeline Albright, but in a less dignified manner, croaks at me in Italian. A smile and a simple reply that I don't speak Italian. She croaks back that she doesn't speak English. So now I must get the translation from the other passport control officer. She continues, croaking and holding some blue governmental form with a picture that I am supposed to have. I tell her I do not have one. She inquires, are you sure. I am not Italian, therefore when I reply no it means no, not I am really lazy and if I say no and act uninterested maybe you will go away and I won't have to work. "You must have a blue form." Maybe the school has it, I have never seen that form before in my life. "Where is your blue form." Ok so now I am at my breaking point. I respond in a slow, calculated, enunciated manner. "I don't have a fucking clue." She gives me a stern lecture and tells me I need it next time I leave Italy. Sure I tell her, maybe I should just stay in Morocco. With some time to spare and because I enjoy pain so much I attempt to try and get my tax refund. Now technically you have to show them the goods, which of course are in storage in Rome. But I reason it is Italy and they are pretty laid back. Not so, he stamps two of the forms and refuses to stamp the third one. Then writes on the third one that I was unable to show the goods. Ok, two out of three isn't bad. Next to the money line to get the dough...or not. A plane load of Chinese tourists has just rendered the line helpless. To the gate before the world ends. Once again I am searched before boarding the plane, but alas they let me board. For six hours I was harassed, poked, prodded, ridiculed, and threatened. When that plane finally took off with me in a seat I had bought twice, I quickly fell asleep. I was exhausted, worried, frustrated, and uncertain of what Morocco would present. Ding...this is going to be close...in a split decision the winner is...oh thank god I am not in Italy.