Just for today, I will not obsess about not getting my passport stamped upon entering France. It’s just one of those things that can eat away at my relaxation, which is what I am here for but must work at which in turn is not very relaxing.
I imagine trying to exit the country, being held in a windowless room, grilled by disdainful customs officials in rapid french.
“DId you think that you were above the rules just because you are an white haired American? You will never leave this country since you had neither the intelligence nor the respect to enter it properly.”
” If I understand you correctly, and I’m sure I do not, you don’t believe that I followed all your signage and wound up at the sortie without ever being asked to reveal my secret identity as an American with disposable income. It was late at night. I was unaware of my surroundings and already deeply embarrassed because a nice looking man with a funny child informed me where the oversized baggage was then after a short conversation I realized he was speaking to his wife who d come up behind me. I also convinced myself that because I arrived from Iceland it was okay and I have this new Kindle thingy that is frustrating me and my large American fingers.”
“I will trade you some nice Icelandic chocolate, a tee shirt which says, “There’s a little Viking in us all for a release from my worry and permission to enjoy myself.”
” You Americans and your pursuit of happiness. Get out.”