One more thing

Well, this post may encompass more than just one more thing, but I remembered one more thing about my trip home from Switzerland that I figured I should write here for all to hear.

I flew from Geneva to Newark in the lovely state of New Jersey. Now, if you've never flown into Newark (and I would assume it's the same at any other airport) the drill is this: if you're flying in from an international location you have to go through immigration and customs. The way that immigration works at Newark (and I would assume it's the same at any other airport) is that you have to wait in a long line and then you go up and talk to either an older-looking man or a younger-looking woman who seems tougher than the old man. In this particular instance, I was sent to the old man. He looked at me for a few seconds. He looked at my documents for a few seconds. Then he asked me what my occupation was. That was a question that I hadn't really thought about since I graduated from college. What is my occupation now?
Some options that ran through my head were: "Former unpaid campus ministry worker," "Untrained quasi-almost-professional website designer/photographer," and "Commune inhabitant." I eventually just said "minister." I don't know why I said that. I'm not a minister. I'm unemployed. Really really unemployed. With no plans for employment in the near future. Apparently it took me too long to make up my mind though. In the eyes of the old man, I was as good as guilty (of what, I wouldn't find out for another little while).
The man told me to walk to the police officer that was quickly making his way towards our desk. I guess the old man had press a panic button or something. After I was handed a small plastic envelope with my passport, driver's license, and plane ticket in it I was escorted to an elevator in a corner. The officer got the door opened and pressed the button for the floor below the floor we were currently on. I was given my instructions ("Get out when the doors open") and the officer let the doors close with only me on the elevator.
When I got out at the bottom, there were two or three more officers waiting for me. They took my documents and walked me to a sitting area which, although built to seat over 100 people, was currently only playing host to two Hispanics. I asked the younger-but-tougher-looking lady cop what was going on, to which she replied "How would I know? I wasn't up there with you. Just sit down."
So I sat. Both of the Latinos were helped and I was left just trying to figure out what was going on. After about 15 minutes I was called to a desk with a guy who sounded more New York than anyone I've ever met in person. The conversation was simple:
--"Where have you been?"
--"Switzerland. Why?"
--"Have you ever been to Jamaica?"
--"Nope."
--"Do you have any relatives in or around the Brooklyn area?"
--"Nope."
--"Okay. Here's your stuff back."
And he just gave me my stuff back like nothing had just happened. Now, I consider myself to be pretty relaxed and easy-going but at this point I had peed more than once in my pants. I was being held without my passport in an airport police station, and they weren't even going to tell me what was going on?
So I asked. Apparently someone named Christopher Allen Martin had smuggled a bunch of drugs in from Jamaica and sold them to people "in or around the Brooklyn area." So that means that I can add drug dealer to the list of awesome career choices that other Chris Martins have made. The list, in case you haven't read any of the other posts, includes photographer, media designer, international rock star, and if you count me, "minister."

In other news, I am back in Conway now. To keep myself busy I've been reading Harry Potter books. Right now I'm on the fourth book and I'm knocking out between 50 and 100 pages a day. The book is 700 pages long so this puts me at about a week-and-a-half pace, at least for this book. The next one is friggin 780 pages. Hopefully I can get it from the Horry County Library.
Also, something monumental happened today. I bought I new pair of flip flops. I guess it's been a long time coming, but it was really hard to pay for a new pair. I kind of felt like I was betraying my five-year-old Rainbows. I got a pair of the new Crocs flip flops. They're nice I guess. It'll take some getting used to. In honor of my old Rainbows, I'm going to post a picture of them as soon as my camera batteries are charged.

Stay tuned.