An Englishman in New England

One of the stranger things I've encountered here throughout my travels is the yawning gap between the hospitality shown me by individuals, and the way I've been treated by entities that profess to act on behalf of the people of this country.

In my first year of college, I had no less than three people offer to take my hand in holy matrimony for the sole purpose of getting me a green card. I politely declined of course (in case any of you were wondering), on numerous occasions, but was touched by how far these people, some of whom barely knew me, were willing to stick their neck out. . .or at least offer to stick their neck out.

This wasn't simply restricted to women either - there have been several instances where guys I've known have said they'd "vouch" for me, which always used to conjure up images of me walking in on a shadowy secret mob boss meeting, and the person in question jumping into the crossfire yelling "Don't shoot! He's with me". . .

I remember I used to get quite paranoid about these peoples' proposals, thinking that some of them might be wearing a wire, just to get the sordid deal on tape to the INS. But pretty soon, they learned to stop offering for fear of my growing proficiency with handcuffs, painful joint locks and inspection of their assholes with a maglite clenched between my teeth while I demand they tell me who they work for.