After the three flights, four airports, and more than 16 hours of travel time required to get us home from Lithuania, Wayne was sleepwalking his way through the customs line at JFK. I, on the other hand, was quietly freaking out.
Okay, not so quietly. As I often do when I’m nervous, I was talking a mile a minute. And there was plenty to comment on: the line so long that it extended up the stairway back into the main terminal, the bare-bones crew of customs agents facing a constant stream of new arrivals, the belligerent travelers shouting out complaints at anyone in a uniform.
Nervous about our own turn at the glassed-in passport kiosk, I didn’t mind these delays. Not that we were doing anything wrong. I made sure we had filled out the customs declaration form to the letter, adding at the last minute a watch I remembered I had bought in Helsinki Airport — just to be on the safe side.