Dis queue at Heathrow!

Arrived in London at the amazing Heathrow (sarcasm, people, sarcasm) and waited for them to process the 1000 people that were waiting in the queue before me. The most interesting thing about the wait was the larger lady from (I’m guessing) Africa, who decided she didn’t wanna wait no more. “Hurry up, I’m dying in dis line!” she called to the non-plussed customs officers.

No-one responded. So she tried again. “If you don’t hurry dis line up, I’ll be comin’ over dere!”

Again, she received barely a glance from the otherwise-engaged customs officers. So she hoiked up her dressed, and made to clamber over the chain to approach a desk. Nothing like encouraging a bit of action. About three security guards descended upon her, a few customs officials jumped out from behind their desks (and let me tell you, the 1000 people all still waiting and not clambering  started muttering almost as one “get back behind your desks and keep processing, ya bastards!”

Now, she had everyone’s attention. I started applying some make-up and brushing my hair incase the camera crew from Border Security were about to make an appearance. She started screaming about how she was getting hot and was going to faint. Let me tell you, that would have been an interesting sight to see, as she was not a petite little thing. After about thirty minutes of arguing and otherwise engaging at least three customs officials who could have been processing us other plebs, she got to make her appeal to be let into the country. And I think she lost it. Or it looked that way when I finally got through (I was at the counter for all of four minutes after queuing for an hour) and she as still sitting in the naughty chair, or whatever they call the seats poor sods have to sit in when their passport details don’t look right.. Good luck honey!!