Doris

About six weeks ago I learned I was going to be traveling internationally three times in the span of a month for work. So, I decided it was time to go ahead and do the whole Global Entry thing. I signed up, filled out the forms, and they assigned me an in-person interview date of exactly three days AFTER I returned from the last international trip. Seems about right.

Last night, I went to the airport for my interview. (Sidenote: The Global Entry office at the Charlotte airport is in the customs area. Which means that I had to walk past like four very large signs reading “DO NOT ENTER” in order to get to it. The rule-follower in me found this excruciating.)

When I walked into the office I met Doris, the officer there. She was about a foot and a half shorter than me and looked around 80 years old. “That you, Sarah? You’re my last interview of the day. I hope you’re not a criminal because I do NOT have time for it.”

I told Doris that other than the occasional speeding ticket, I generally obey the law. She did not find me even a little amusing. She squinted at me suspiciously and then looked over my information.

“You’ve been to Grand Cayman twice in the last month. Are you banking down there? Are you doing something illegal? You’re doing something illegal, aren’t you, Sarah?”

I was definitely scared of Doris by this point. I told her all my actions in Grand Cayman were legal and had nothing to do with banks.

She took my fingerprints and photo, and signed off on my application. “Ok, you’re approved now. Don’t make me regret it. DO YOU HEAR ME? Don’t you make me regret it, SARAH.”

I promised I wouldn’t and then basically ran away. So, now I’m technically a “trusted traveler”—but definitely not by Doris, who, by the way, is exactly who I’d choose to be defending our borders.

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