Benjamin van der Spek Photography
The Brass
No. 19 The Brass
I ended up sticking on the man holding my brother’s passport. The supervisor wasn’t all too happy with this and every time he stopped to have a chat with someone in the busy departure hall, I interrupted his conversation to ask: “Excuse me, is this about the passport?!” After the second interruption the supervisor was clearly fed up and decided to return to the passport check desk. My brother joined us with the other supervisor and yet a third man with a big moustache appeared. This man wore an army uniform adorned with many fancy colours and although the man was rather short, the others looked up to him. He quickly took control of the situation, grabbed the ticket and the passport and ordered the ‘stamp-man’ to put down his stamps. He handed my brother his passport and ticket. “This time we will overlook your mistake. Now don’t do it again!”
I couldn’t help wondering if this man had ever seen Monty Python’s Life of Brian… It didn’t matter. We had to run. Our plane was waiting and wouldn't wait much longer. They had begon offloading our luggage. We ran towards the gate and I put my carry-on through the xray. We were so close now. I could see the plane.
“What is this?” The security man opened my bag and took out a small cardboard box. “They are bicycle bells, sir. We love cycling in Holland and these big bells are nice presents to give away.” The security guard was alone. His commanding officer was a couple of x-ray machines away checking on my brother’s bag.
The guard lowered his voice. “This is illegal. This is economic export.” “Excuse me”: I replied, “... are you implying I would open a shop in The Netherlands, selling four cheap bicycle bells?” It was so obvious where this was going. “If I let you pass with this box, what will you do for me?”
These situations are always delicate. Any answer to this security guard, alone in an airport gate could be the wrong one. But after everything we had gone through at this airport today, it was getting absurd. I glanced at the officer near my brother. He was done. My brother was ready to board the plane. I decided to laugh out loud as if the guard had made a joke. “Do you mean you want one of my bicycle bells?” I said, loud enough to resonate through the hall.
The guard looked over his shoulder and saw the commanding officer looking our way. “Go!” “Go now!”
A blonde flight attendant, looking stunning in her blue and white KLM uniform, handed me a Dutch newspaper and a cold glass of milk. “Alstublieft meneer, welkom aan boord.”
It already felt good to be home.
The Brass
No. 19 The Brass
I ended up sticking on the man holding my brother’s passport. The supervisor wasn’t all too happy with this and every time he stopped to have a chat with someone in the busy departure hall, I interrupted his conversation to ask: “Excuse me, is this about the passport?!” After the second interruption the supervisor was clearly fed up and decided to return to the passport check desk. My brother joined us with the other supervisor and yet a third man with a big moustache appeared. This man wore an army uniform adorned with many fancy colours and although the man was rather short, the others looked up to him. He quickly took control of the situation, grabbed the ticket and the passport and ordered the ‘stamp-man’ to put down his stamps. He handed my brother his passport and ticket. “This time we will overlook your mistake. Now don’t do it again!”
I couldn’t help wondering if this man had ever seen Monty Python’s Life of Brian… It didn’t matter. We had to run. Our plane was waiting and wouldn't wait much longer. They had begon offloading our luggage. We ran towards the gate and I put my carry-on through the xray. We were so close now. I could see the plane.
“What is this?” The security man opened my bag and took out a small cardboard box. “They are bicycle bells, sir. We love cycling in Holland and these big bells are nice presents to give away.” The security guard was alone. His commanding officer was a couple of x-ray machines away checking on my brother’s bag.
The guard lowered his voice. “This is illegal. This is economic export.” “Excuse me”: I replied, “... are you implying I would open a shop in The Netherlands, selling four cheap bicycle bells?” It was so obvious where this was going. “If I let you pass with this box, what will you do for me?”
These situations are always delicate. Any answer to this security guard, alone in an airport gate could be the wrong one. But after everything we had gone through at this airport today, it was getting absurd. I glanced at the officer near my brother. He was done. My brother was ready to board the plane. I decided to laugh out loud as if the guard had made a joke. “Do you mean you want one of my bicycle bells?” I said, loud enough to resonate through the hall.
The guard looked over his shoulder and saw the commanding officer looking our way. “Go!” “Go now!”
A blonde flight attendant, looking stunning in her blue and white KLM uniform, handed me a Dutch newspaper and a cold glass of milk. “Alstublieft meneer, welkom aan boord.”
It already felt good to be home.