A Day In The Life of a Customs Officer

While working at an international airport, the chances of seeing a celebrity would seem to be greater than seeing Harrison Ford walking down the street. But when that airport is in Newfoundland, those encounters are few and far between.

One day while working an international flight I had my first celebrity encounter. All of my co-workers were buzzing with excitement. It was Ron Jeremy. I had seen him on the second season of Surreal Life on MTV, so I was excited at the prospect of seeing someone who was on television. Knowing his previous history as a porn star, I knew that he would be detained and questioned.

Like clockwork, Mr. Jeremy was lead into a back office to be questioned by Immigration officials, as he was planning on working in Canada. When I knew he was in the office alone, I grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and tentatively walked towards the door.

“Where are you going?” asked a co-worker of mine.
“Oh, I just figured I’d ask if he’d give me an autograph,” I replied casually.
“Really? I figured you’d be too young to know any of his work,” he called back, snickering.

While I was completely embarrassed at the thought, I was still determined to get my slice of the celebrity cake. I ignored my laughing co-workers who had all heard the exchange. As I stood in front of the door, my co-workers imitated 70s porn music behind my back.

Walking in, I saw this 5”6 pudgy little man sitting at the desk with Nintendo hair and mustache that reminded me of Mario from Super Mario Brothers. He was filthy from head to foot, like he had been working in an auto shop for the last 8 hours instead of riding in the lap of luxury on a first-class flight. I had no idea why anyone would want to have sex with that, let alone pay him to do it. But, a celebrity’s a celebrity, and I didn’t care who he was.

He looked up from the papers he was filling out and smiled at me. I blushed and asked him politely that while it wasn’t protocol, if he would mind signing an autograph for me. His grin got bigger, and he looked me up and down while taking the paper and pen from me.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” he asked.
“Heather,” I replied.
“You look a little young to be in law enforcement,” he stated.
“Oh, that’s because I’m a student just working here for the summer,” I answered, pleased that I was engaging in some sort of conversation with someone I religiously watched on reality television.
“A student, really? That’s nice. I don’t get too many young, beautiful girls like yourself coming up to me for an autograph. In fact, you are a little young to be a fan of my work, don’t you think?” he said, laughing.

I could feel the heat stinging my cheeks. He actually thought I watched his other work! I started stammering, trying to shove out an explanation that I had seen him as a has-been celebrity on television, but to no avail – the words just could not leave my mouth. I stood there, helplessly, turning red from the tips of my toes to the top of my ears as he continued on.

“You look good in that uniform, sugar. You ever, ah, allowed to use it outside of work?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, handing me back the cursed piece of paper that had gotten me into this mess in the first place.

“Ah, no. Um, er, thanks for the autograph, it was nice meeting you,” I managed to spit out before turning back. I turned around blindly, and practically ran out of the office.

My co-workers had seen every minute of the exchange on the surveillance cameras, and when I walked back in, the chorus of porn theme songs continued and one of them walked up to me and said, very seriously, “Ma’am, I believe you ordered a pizza, exxxttraa sausage?”

I turned and walked out of the building.

I’ve never asked for another celebrity’s autograph since that day.