The corrupt democratic media call him a dictator, but he demands that he be called by the constitution - the Master. Master of Dauphin & Dennery. Master Leonard.
***
Due to a tropical storm, as I love them, honestly, our plane landed in St. John's. The flight to Toronto was supposed to be long, and I fell asleep hoping to sleep through the entire flight.
The stewardess woke me up with pushing. "Well, you are sleeping like a bear, let's get up already."
"What? Are we in Toronto already?" I asked half asleep, not believing that six hours flew by so quickly.
"You overslept the captain's message," she said reproachfully, "there's a storm, there's a storm ahead and we can't keep flying, everyone gets off in Antigua."
***
The border officer, a middle-aged woman with a lush haircut, peered at my passport for a long time.
"Purpose of your visit to Antigua?"
"Tropical storm," I answered.
"What is your ultimate goal for the flight?"
"Toronto."
"What is your purpose for visiting Toronto?" strange inquiries continued.
"Business trip!"
The border officer looked at me in surprise, "Please go to the interrogation room."
"But!?"
Eyes flashed menacingly; you can't argue here. I went to the room where they showed me. The devil pulled me to stand in line for pilots and diplomatic passports, and although I have a service passport (it's almost like a diplomatic one), the officer took 'revenge' on me.
The room was empty, and I sat down on a chair. It was quiet, night, and somewhere out there (there were no windows in the room) a tropical storm was raging.
Finally, a young man in a customs officer's uniform arrived. The uniform was too big for him, his uniform shirt was hanging on him. He sat down at the table and began to click on the computer, click, click.
Then he looked at me amazedly, "Name?"
"Bernard Coard."
Click, click, click.
"Do you have legal rights to stay in Antigua?"
"I thought it was a tropical storm and the plane couldn't fly any further. The entire flight was dropped down and I did not see any problems with any of the passengers."
Click, click, click.
Not good movement in the hands of my passport. "Legal grounds?" he insisted.
Damn, they can do it! They can lock you in the monkey barn for the whole night.
All right, I had to admit it, young bureaucrat! "A residence permit, I have a house here in Saint Philip," I gave the address.
Click, click.
"Number and series of residence permit?"
"I don't have it with me, I was flying to Toronto, tropical storm..."
The officer looked at me unkindly and sighed. Bishop's shit! Still, it has to spend the night in jail with the Jamaicans and Guyanese! But he returned my passport and waved his hand at the door that I could leave.
***
Apparently, all my fellow passengers on the flight were put on a bus and taken to the hotel. Perhaps they received information about the time and further flight that will continue to Toronto. I didn't know any information now.
It's raining cats and dogs. And the wind, the wind. I couldn't get a taxi, so I had to spend the night at the airport.
Due to flight delays, the airport was full. There were no seats, or there were such personalities sitting there that I didn't want to sit next to them. I wandered around the airport trying to kill time, sneaking a look at how a young policewoman stood calmly and modestly, and next to another policeman was telling her something. Long, long, boring night duty.
Finally, I bought a newspaper, I didn't read anything new there. But between the lines one could understand the rulers' irritation with the common people. You are evading taxes! You are rude! According to the constitution, it is your sacred duty to... Since there were no free seats, I laid a newspaper on the floor somewhere in the corner and fell asleep on it.
***
I woke up to some dog wagging its tail right under my nose.
"Ugh! Go away!"
It was already dawn, the sky was covered with gray thin clouds and drizzling lightly. Shrinking and pulling my head in, I headed to the maintenance company where I had once left the key to my house.