Our flight back to Amman from Beirut landed at 11:15 pm on Saturday night. We wanted to take advantage of all the time we could in Lebanon, hence the late flight. Kirsten and I decided to book it off that flight to be first in line at customs, and we did just that. I got up to the desk, only to have the man say that my visa isn’t valid.
He obviously can’t read because it says in both English and Arabic that it’s valid until January 4, 2012. And if I remember correctly, it’s still only 2011. So, umm, yeah, it’s valid. But no matter how much arguing I did, he told me I needed to go buy a new visa.
I walked over to the visa purchasing desk, slammed down my passport, and said “I need a new visa” in a very stern voice (as my dad would say, my tone was like a sword). Not that he deserved it, but the situation called for it in my opinion. So he gave me a new visa that cost me 20 JD (which is just unnecessary and upsetting only because I already have a valid visa)., and I walked up to another empty customs desk.
This time the guy takes my passport and starts asking questions: “Where are you coming from?” “Why are you in Amman?” “Where are youstudying?” “What are you studying?” etc. But then he asked me for my phone number. I asked why that was necessary, and he said he needed it to input it into the computer. I was skeptical, but I gave it to him anyway because that was the only way he would let me through. He stamped my passport, and as I walked off he yells out “Call you tomorrow.” Classy, really classy.
The next day, I went home right after class to take a napbecause I was so exhausted but an hour into my much needed nap, I get a phonecall from a number that I don’t recognize. So I ignore it. The phone rang again 5 minutes later so I answered this time. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Hello.
Customs guy: Allo
Me: Hello?
Customs guy: allo
Me: Helloooo?
I mean in a typical phone conversation the guy calling is supposed to have something to say or at least a reason for calling, neither ofwhich he had. So I hung up right away. Even though I didn’t have any confirmation that this was the same guy, I was 150% sure. There was no way it could have been anybody else. Well, he proceeded to call me 9 other times that day, all of which I rejected on the first ring. So you would think that a normal person would take a hint, but he persistently kept calling. Some calls were back to back, others were spaced out. I got the feeling this guy was not going to stop, and what scared me even more was that he had access to all of my information from the customs computers. Who knows what he could have done!
So the next day I told the head of the program (a Jordanian man) and he took care of the situation. He called the guy and made it very clear that if he even so much as thought to call me one more time, bad things would happen. And I have yet to receive another phone call!
And I’m sorry, but really?! Your way of picking up women is threatening to deny them entry to the country unless they give you their phone number? Umm tactless and desperate much? I would say so. The sad thing is that this is the second time this has happened to me. The first time I ever ventured to the Arab world at age 16, I was at the customs desk in Rabat, Morocco, and the guy asked me out. Thank goodness I didn’t have a phone number to give him!
He obviously can’t read because it says in both English and Arabic that it’s valid until January 4, 2012. And if I remember correctly, it’s still only 2011. So, umm, yeah, it’s valid. But no matter how much arguing I did, he told me I needed to go buy a new visa.
I walked over to the visa purchasing desk, slammed down my passport, and said “I need a new visa” in a very stern voice (as my dad would say, my tone was like a sword). Not that he deserved it, but the situation called for it in my opinion. So he gave me a new visa that cost me 20 JD (which is just unnecessary and upsetting only because I already have a valid visa)., and I walked up to another empty customs desk.
This time the guy takes my passport and starts asking questions: “Where are you coming from?” “Why are you in Amman?” “Where are youstudying?” “What are you studying?” etc. But then he asked me for my phone number. I asked why that was necessary, and he said he needed it to input it into the computer. I was skeptical, but I gave it to him anyway because that was the only way he would let me through. He stamped my passport, and as I walked off he yells out “Call you tomorrow.” Classy, really classy.
The next day, I went home right after class to take a napbecause I was so exhausted but an hour into my much needed nap, I get a phonecall from a number that I don’t recognize. So I ignore it. The phone rang again 5 minutes later so I answered this time. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Hello.
Customs guy: Allo
Me: Hello?
Customs guy: allo
Me: Helloooo?
I mean in a typical phone conversation the guy calling is supposed to have something to say or at least a reason for calling, neither ofwhich he had. So I hung up right away. Even though I didn’t have any confirmation that this was the same guy, I was 150% sure. There was no way it could have been anybody else. Well, he proceeded to call me 9 other times that day, all of which I rejected on the first ring. So you would think that a normal person would take a hint, but he persistently kept calling. Some calls were back to back, others were spaced out. I got the feeling this guy was not going to stop, and what scared me even more was that he had access to all of my information from the customs computers. Who knows what he could have done!
So the next day I told the head of the program (a Jordanian man) and he took care of the situation. He called the guy and made it very clear that if he even so much as thought to call me one more time, bad things would happen. And I have yet to receive another phone call!
And I’m sorry, but really?! Your way of picking up women is threatening to deny them entry to the country unless they give you their phone number? Umm tactless and desperate much? I would say so. The sad thing is that this is the second time this has happened to me. The first time I ever ventured to the Arab world at age 16, I was at the customs desk in Rabat, Morocco, and the guy asked me out. Thank goodness I didn’t have a phone number to give him!
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