Joshua Zamrycki's Weblog

Today I was deported from the United Kingdom. Let me explain…

On Thursday, Jan and I traveled to the UK to perform in the Swansea Fringe Festival. We flew into Bristol and were to meet Liam at the airport and then drive to Swansea in Wales where we would meet up with Chris. That was the plan.

Everything was going smoothly enough – the plane took off and landed on time and they managed to not lose my luggage. Hooray! Once off the plane, Jan and I arrived at the immigration passport security counter. Jan got on the end of the “European Citizen” line (behind about 200 people) and I got on the end of the “Non European Citizen” line (behind about 5 people!). I of course expected my line to go a little slower than Jan’s line where the immigration officials simply smile at your open passport and let you go on your merry way. I didn’t expect it to take quite as long as it did.

Jan and the preceding 200 European citizens passed though their security check in the same amount of time it took three people to pass through my checkpoint. It literally took 15 minutes to question three people! I have no idea what they were asking them but we managed to keep each other entertained in my line by rolling our eyes, shrugging our shoulders, and sighing heavily. By the time I finally reached the counter, Jan had been waiting 10 minutes for me just on the other side of the checkpoint. All of this must sound like your average airport nightmare, but the nervous little bald man with the scruffy beard behind the security desk managed to change all that.

Me: Hello. (handing over my passport)
Beardy: Hello. (looks at passport) American?
Me: Yup.
Beardy: (looks at passport) Where are you flying in from?
Me: Barcelona.
Beardy: (pause) Your occupation?
Me: I’m an actor.
Beardy: What are your plans while in the UK?
Me: I’m performing in the Swansea Fringe Festival.
Beardy: (blank stare)
Me: You know, in Swansea. (waits for recognition) We’re doing a play.
Beardy: How long are you planning on staying in the country?
Me: We fly back on Sunday, so three days.
Beardy: Are you earning any money for performing at this festival?
Me: Yes I am.
Beardy: Do you have a permit to work in the UK?
Me: …uh, no. I don’t think I need one. We just came back from a month’s performing in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and we didn’t need a permit to perform there.
Beardy: Please wait here a moment…

At this point, the nervous little man disappeared with my passport into a small office and left me standing there at the counter for about ten whole minutes. I could see Jan standing about 30 feet away from me. At one point she gestured, “What’s going on?” I gestured back, “I have no idea.” Finally the little man came back.

Beardy: What was the name of the festival again?
Me: The Swansea Fringe Festival. Have you ever been to it?
Beardy: I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it.
Me: It’s like the Edinburgh Festival, but in Swansea.
Beardy: Please wait here a moment.

He disappeared again for another ten minutes and then reappeared to tell me that he was checking “the list”. I had no idea what he was talking about but before i could ask, he popped back into his mysterious little office. After another ten minutes of bewildered waiting, he emerged with the information that the Swansea Fringe Festival did not appear on his “list” of festivals and I would therefore need a permit. Apparently, if a festival does not require its performerss to obtain a permit, it must inform the Home Office. I asked him what this all meant and, goddammit, off he went again into his Hobbit hole.

This was now getting ridiculous. Approximately 45 minutes had passed since I had first arrived at the immigration check point and I had no idea what was going on. And neither did Jan. And I couldn’t get anywhere near her to tell her what little I knew. All I did know was that Liam would be waiting for us outside the airport with a rental car, wondering where the hell we were.

It must have been another 10 minutes before my fuzzy Einstein came back to ask me absolutely every question he had already asked me! He assured me that it would only take a few more minutes to clear the whole thing up. Before he could sneak off again, I insisted that he go and explain what was happing to Jan so she could decide what to do. Unbeknownst to me, they told her that there was very little chance of me getting through immigration and that she should start making plans accordingly! Upon hearing this, Jan exited the terminal to go and find Liam.

So there I was. All alone. Sitting in the only chair in a room full of people queuing to pass through immigration. Watching plane after plane of new passengers arrive and quickly pass from one side to the other. The bastards. I must have sat there for another 30 minutes before I finally decided to call Chris and let him know what was happening. A mindless automaton with a ponytail and a shiny yellow vest quickly pointed out that the use of mobile phones was strictly prohibited until you completely pass through immigration. So I asked if I could use a camera (to document the situation). Nope. OK, what about an mp3 player? Could I at least listen to music while I wait here endlessly? This confused the little drone and so she had to ask her supervisor. She came back with, “I’m afraid you can’t listen to music either. But it’ll only be another few minutes.” (!!) I reminded her that I had been given the “another few minutes” line three times already.

Those “few minutes” turned into another 20 minutes before old Beardy came back to inform me that 1) they were denying me entry into the UK, 2) they would be confiscating my passport, 3) they would be deporting me back to Spain, and that 4) Jan was outside the terminal and had sent the car off without us. I could have easily gone ape-shit and flipped out at this point but instead I calmly said, “I see”. Lucky for me I controlled myself because my new friend had one more piece of information for me. They were prepared to grant me “temporary entry” into the UK until Sunday so I could take advantage of my return flight which I had already bought. But if I were to participate in the festival during this stay, I could be arrested immediately. But they would first have to prepare the paperwork for me to sign to make it official.

Me: And how long will that take?
Beardy: About an hour.
Me: An hour?! To print a piece of paper?!
Beardy: It’s more complicated than that. We have to do some searches on the computer. And we have a remote connection. And it’s very, uh…

He trailed off into some confused explanation which demonstrated nothing more than his absolute incompetence and ignorance of modern technology. Did I mention that this was his first week on the job? He told me so.

He was right about one thing, though. It took a whole hour for them to print off that piece of paper for me to sign – bringing my stay at Bristol airport’s immigration desk to a whopping two and a half hours.

And here’s the kicker: when I finally made it to the exit of the airport, I was greeted by both Jan and Liam. Jan had not sent the car off without us. Surprise surprise, I was misinformed. Just another example of how mind-bogglingly incompetent those people were.

So there you have it. The long and the tall of it. I bit my thumb at The Man and performed in the festival anyway! “Let’s see them catch me!” And I got paid handsomely for my performance. And I returned to the airport on Sunday. And I was personally escorted to the plane by a security guard to make sure that I really left the country. And I got my passport back – albeit with a nasty “X” in it demonstrating my Rogue status. No doubt I’m going to have a hard time returning to England for Christmas this year. And probably for the rest of my life.