Member-only story
One Time In America — My Only Day In The USA
It’s 1998. I'm standing in line at The United Airlines check-in desk smoking a Marlboro.
‘Excuse me, sir?’
‘You can’t smoke here. It’s a federal violation.’
‘A what?’
‘It’s against the law — you’ve got to smoke outside.’
It’s five o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ve been at LAX for five hours waiting for my connecting flight to Sydney.
The flight from London was insanely long and boring. And without a cigarette, it was torture.
So apart from a couple of beers in the airport bar, I’ve spent the past three hours outside smoking and tipping duty-free whisky into cans of Coke.
I’m only smoking in the queue because I saw another guy light up. A bit drunk, I thought, fuck it! If he can, I can. After all, wasn’t this America — Land of The Free?
I finally get to the desk.
‘Ah Mr Ogley…’
Shit! Now what. Why is everyone haranguing me?
Earlier on, the barman at the airport bar nearly punched me because I didn’t leave him a tip.
‘I only ordered a beer,’ I said. ‘Not a three-course meal.’
