French Bred - Ch 1 (continued)

I guess the customs inspector thought that I looked too poor, too American, or too smart to try to smuggle anything into France, and I was waved through quickly. The passport verification line looked long, but it seemed to be moving quickly. Here I was, holding the first passport I had ever been issued, and was getting excited to think that the first stamp in my first passport would be France! I reached the window, and wouldn't you know, this would be my first encounter with a bored French government worker who knew that his job could never be in jeopardy. He glanced at my passport, looked up at me with half-closed eyes, handed me back my passport and that was that. No stamp, no "welcome to France", no "What is the purpose of your visit, Monsieur Ugly American Who Thinks He Can Dictate To The World?" No. Just a quick flick of the head to show me how to get out.

I wanted to say, "Hey! How about a stamp here? What if the people who check my passport on the way home don't see a stamp and think I snuck into the country?" Then I realized that the people checking my passport on the way out would be a lot like the one who checked it on the way in. So I moved along before I bored the official into a complete state of inertia instead of the partial state he was in at the time.

Welcome to France. Home of the Bored Government Employee. Now Go Home. But First Leave Your Money.

I weaved my way through the mass of tourists and natives to get to the exit. There, waiting for me was my fiance. As tired as I was, my energy level took a huge leap. It had been nearly a year since I had seen her, and she looked lovely; nervous, but lovely.