Pascoe's America Ordeal

My friend Elly is very much an animal enthusiast, and the other day I went with her to an owl sanctuary so she could buy a rather attractive Polish Bantam chicken with an afro. As soon as we walked in, we befriended a friendly little parrot who eventually ended up on my shoulder.

This is when I got Kit's text.

Kit and I have been friends since our first year of uni, after the good people in charge of Plymouth's Halls of Residence put is in the rooms adjacent to each other.
In Summer 2009, we set off on a two month backpacking trip across America, starting in Chicago and finishing up in LA. We traversed the middle, taking the poor public transport, WWOOFing and staying in cheap, slightly terrifying hostels along the way. In Denver, we met a nice chap named Ryan who we soon found ourselves in a car with, being driven to The International Climber's Festival in Wyoming. We had an awesome week sport climbing, learning to slackline, eating beans and meeting American climbers, frisbee-ers and... raccoons! When it was over, we said our goodbyes to Ryan and he left us his contact details along with a note that read 'Ryan Arment was born in the waterfalls of Northern Texas and gave up reason for a life of rock climbing'. We stayed in touch and, after finishing her degree, Kit strarted making plans to go back out to America to travel with Ryan on a three month trip.

She left Plymouth last week to set off for this trip. On a messy night in Cuba, with Jess the Unicorn Princess in tow, we said our fond farewells and I laughed to myself about the fact that the last time I would see her until September, she was wearing a genie outfit.

So... this text. It was a little confusing and a little bit alarming. The words 'Tell Ryan I'm OK. They read my texts. I'll explain when I've pulled myself together and stopped crying' were a bit ambiguous, but I recognised them as a bit of a venture away from the anticipated, 'Mate! I'm in America! It's slammmin fine!'

Over the course of the day, I came to learn the story of what had happened. Kit got stopped by some incrediblywankerish customs officers who automatically assumed that she was going over there with the intention of marrying Ryan and getting a greencard. They told her that her plans to volunteer at the Climbing Festival whilst out there were illegal (in spite of the fact that we volunteered on farms two years before and they were fine with this). They interrogated her for four hours, went through her phone and notebook in front of her and laughed at her. They then sent her on the next plane home.
They were basically big fat morons.

Ryan also came under questioning. He told me afterwards that they phoned him and did their very best to squeeze any little smidge of incriminating information from him that they could, in order to use against her. He later received a letter from the US government telling him they would be looking into his files.

I can only think of one way to console Kit in light of this shitty situation... and that is to congratulate her on managing to cross off one thing on the typical List of Things To Do Before You Die... 'Get Kicked out of a Country'. And the US is a pretty big one to have crossed off!

Woods

Jess Woods is one of my dearest and most disasterous friends.

She leaves a trail of destruction wherever she has been, often recognisable by giant-heeled shoes, glitter, fag ash, items of clothing (not neccessarily over-garments) or important items like her phone, or bank cards. Her highly professional conduct, which she largely models on that of Charlie Sheen, will most likely take her far in her chosen field: Medicine.

In spite of her general awfulness, Jess has a big disorganised spot in my heart and tonight we are going out in Plymouth to celebrate her birthday. She takes her birthdays very seriously and insists on going in fancy dress. Tonight she will be dressed as a 'unicorn princess'.

I am excited.

This is why.

At the moment, I am working in a tiny card shop. We do not get many customers here, and it appears to me that the large majority of people that do come in are, at best, mentally unsound.

The other day a lady came in asking if we sold cards with pictures of babies on them. She said she collected pictures of babies, and that they had to be real babies as opposed to cartoon ones. When I finally managed to find her a picture of a card with a real baby on it, she had what I could most readily associate with a minor breakdown, because she did not like its hair.
'I want to buy it!' she told me, wide eyed, almost sweating. 'But I just... the hair!' She sighed despairingly. 'It's not nice, is it?'
Failing to see what could possibly have been so offensive about standard, orthodox baby hair, I struggled to think of a response that would not contribute to any further distress.
'The baby looks quite happy?'

Anyway, as well as providing efficient customer service to people such as Mad Baby Hair Lady, I also am able to use the till as a computer. Therefore, this blog now exists. Also, considering I have just finished my degree am going to be starting an MA writing course later in the year, I figured this would probably be a good way to keep my writing going, and the ideas flowing.