A loud buzzing sound, perpetrated by a small, black onyx cell phone, filled the spacious expanse of suite number four and the YMCA compound. "Hello," I answered. "Uhhh, yes, Jeff, this is Burt, is your, ahhhh, person still coming today," demanded Burt, I.L. Inc. "Hmmm, well, yes Burt, she will be arriving at 7:15 this evening," I retorted. "Ok," said Burt. Moments later, a loud click was heard and the line went dead.
Several hours passed, when a small, yellow taxi pulled up outside the gates of our razorwire palace by the sea. Exactly, two hours late, Burt stepped out of the tiny car. "Jeff," he shouted. "We must go and pick up your person," he continued. I responded, "Yes Burt, but we don't have to be at the airport for four hours." "Uhhh, yes, yes," quipped the International Liaison.
An hour later, we arrived at the parking lot of Roberts International Airport. As we arrived, a security guard showed the taxi driver to an area entitled, "Airport Parking."--which is a glorified dirt drive, located about 200 yards east of the airfield. Our intrepid International Liaison insisted that we be given diplomatic privileges and placed a student ID card in security guards hand. Naturally, this was insufficient to warrant diplomatic parking and we were escorted by guard to the adjacent lot.
As soon as we parked the car, Burt looked at his watch. "Your person should be arriving soon," he mumbled. I responded, "Well Burt, if you believe three hours is soon, yes, she will be arriving soon." "What," he screamed. "The manifest says 17:15." "Actually, the manifest says 7:15," I replied. "Or 19:15." "This is terrible," sighed Burt. "I guess we will just have to go visit the Firestone Plantation."
......RANDOM INTERVAL AND ADVENTURE SOON FOLLOWS.......
Two hours later, I arrived again at Roberts International Airport. This time, the security guards were well versed in the "diplomatic ploy" and immediately directed us to the right. Soon after, we had parked the taxi and settled in for the wait.
Moments later, Burt turned to the cab driver. "No, no, no, this is still no good." "Shit, it still smells." Then, if by magic, Burt materialized a bottle of de-odorizer. "Here, spray the entire car, inside and out," demanded Burt. The cabbie, quickly complied, spraying even the external door handles. "Good, that is much better," stated Burt. As I sat in the back seat, I thought, yes, prior to the spraying, it smelled like 40-year-old body odor. Now, it smells like 40-year-old body odor with a hint of fresh spring. Clearly, well done Burt. Well done! (on a side note: it appears Burt and the rest of Liberia are sensitive to the needs of western travelers, feeling any slight odor might so offend our nasal olfactory senses, that we will die immediately, without cause or explanation)
Soon after, we exited the cab in search of the Center's newest arrival. Burt proceeded to continue to demand diplomatic privileges. He insisted that we have access to the ramp, so that we could meet our employee. "But, I am a diplomat sir, can you not see that I am a diplomat. Clearly, I am a diplomat and you are a security man," he stated loudly. I am unsure how a student claims diplomatic immunity, but it worked. The airport staff, apparently befuddled by his ranting, finally caved, and allowed him to meet Lara at the gate. The guard, however, immediately protested that I be allowed to meet her at the gate as well. "This is a disgrace to our country," continued Burt. "He must meet her, he is the only one who knows what she looks like," protested Burt. Naturally, he had a point, I was the only one who knew that a white girl would soon be getting off the plane any minute and she would respond to the name Lara. The security staff all mumbled in concurrence at this sound peice of logic and allowed us to pass.
Soon after, Lara was located and brought safely to immigration. As we passed through the immigration counters, we heard, "Stop." We turned to find a young, security guard, demanding that we submit to a bag search. Burt lost it! He began yelling, "Can you not see that I am a Diplomat." "You are embarrassing our guest and our country." "You are infringing on my rights." At this point, I found it amusing that Burt would suggest his rights were infringed. Really Burt, they are infringing your rights by searching her bag? I guess it is a constitutional violation to search bags at airports for national security reasons. At this point, the guard pulled out his walkie talkie. Burt continued, "Oh, so you want to make calls. I can make calls, too. Who' you going call." At this point, several others just looked at Burt like, give the man a dollar and be done with it.
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