I Pissed Off My Immigration Officer

He was unhappy with my head

Claire Franky
5 min readJun 6, 2024


Photo by Kamyar Dehghan on Unsplash

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I stared at the white clock hanging on the white wall and watched its black hands move around in a circle. The obnoxious ticking noise echoed around the quiet waiting room.

A ding sounded. My eyes darted to the black screen and read the number displayed:


I glanced down at the paper in my hand. After several seconds of examination, I beamed at my matching number.

Apparently, numbers 1 through 10 had bad vibes.

Grasping the itemized gray folder to my chest, I stood and walked forward, ignoring the jealous death stares from the other five lost souls waiting on plastic chairs.

Approaching the cubicle, I smoothed my navy blue dress and walked through the opening. Around the corner, a middle-aged man in a shirt and tie sat at a desk, studying a computer screen.

I paused.

“Hello,” I said.

I’m here. Greet me.

“Hello,” he replied without looking up from his screen.

Erm. You called for me… It’s me — AF679 GUMDICK.