I don’t know a whole lot about Franz Kafka, but after hanging out with him over the past few months, I can state with some certainty that he would have loved living in America in 2022.
In his writing, Kafka dealt with themes of alienation, existential anxiety, and downright absurdity: what a gold mine he would have found during these bizarre times! What’s true? What’s fake? Whom to believe and trust? Material galore for many a wonderfully-strange short story.
Mr. Kafka first came to visit in late fall, on the day my wife Jan and I were applying for Global Entry, a program that would allow us to avoid long waits at Customs and Immigration in many airports around the world. We completed the application process and paid the required fee. The last step was to arrange for a 5-minute, in-person interview at a “convenient location.” “An in-person interview during a pandemic?” I thought. As it turned out, every interview location within 200 miles of Leverett (Boston, Providence, Hartford, Albany, …) either had no openings for the foreseeable future or were permanently closed.
Kafka just smiled, dipped his pen, and jotted down a few, private reflections.
Franz (we were on a first name basis by now) turned up again, in late February, as Jan and I hustled (in a 70-year-old kind of way) through American Airlines Terminal D in Miami. We were determined to accomplish the increasingly-difficult task of connecting with the domestic leg of an international flight, this one from San Jose, Costa Rica to Hartford. But I’m jumping ahead of myself …
Just before we departed San Jose, Jan learned of an online program called “Mobile Entry,” a service, similar to Global Entry, which entitles members to jump to the front of the line at many airports — for free! Think about that. Anyone can become a member, no strings attached, and receive special treatment, simply because they knew about the program. I could imagine Franzy contemplating the possibilities.
There was one catch, naturally. For some strange reason, new members were not allowed to submit completed applications until they were within one hour of their designated terminal. With our plane’s Wi-Fi malfunctioning (naturally), we had no choice but to wait until we landed to complete our submissions, which, amazingly, we did as we approached the Immigration area.
Fellow travelers were forming in long lines in front of the many booths manned by Customs agents. Jan and I, feeling a bit smug, as new members of select clubs often do, looked around in search of the Mobile Entry booth. To the right of the “All Passengers” lines we noticed four Global Entry entrances, but nothing for Mobile Entry. (My literary sidekick was licking his lips.) I approached a security officer and asked where we might find our entry point. He pointed to a sign that read: “Global Entry, Diplomats Only,” and said: “They’ll take care of you.”
“But it says Diplomats Only,” I reminded him. He again pointed to the sign and gave us a nod, signaling that we should do as instructed. And so we did.
There was no one, absolutely no one, in this line. We approached the booth, handed our passports and cellphone with our Mobile Entry submission to the agent. After half a minute on his computer, he said: “Looks like you applied for Global Entry but never scheduled an interview.”
“That’s true,” I said. Thankfully, Franz kept his mouth shut.
“You’re good. Go right on through,” he announced as he handed us back our passports.
We walked on, like good soldiers, no questions asked, arriving at our gate 45 minutes early for our flight to Bradley.
Dear reader, I can imagine you might be asking yourself: isn’t a guest column supposed to be about something? What have I learned, how has my life been enriched by dedicating five minutes to this mildly entertaining tale? After consulting with my traveling buddy, we feel the answer is best expressed by our favorite songwriter, Bob Dylan, in his classic, “Ballad of a Thin Man”:
“You know something is happening but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones.”
Gene Stamell and Franz can be reached at gstamell@gmail.com