In 1983, I was on my way to Central America to work in a medical equipment repair shop for five weeks. My flight took me from Baltimore to Mexico City, where I was to change planes for the rest of my journey. I arrived in Mexico City and was walking up the jetway when I encountered a security guard. I explained that I was in transit to another country, and he looked at my passport and tickets and used a key to open a door for me. I walked down the aisle for a few minutes, and it abruptly came to a point where three potted plants blocked it.
I was confused and returned to where the guard had been, but he was gone, and the door was locked. I waited for a few minutes, but no one else came by. I retraced my steps back to where I found the potted plants to see if there was a door somewhere that I had missed, but there was none. I then realized that if I pushed some drapes a few inches aside, there was plenty of room for me and my suitcase to get by the potted plants. I did that and continued walking for a minute or two, but there were no signs with directions to anything.
I walked over to another security guard and asked how to get to the in-transit area of the airport. His badge indicated his name was Sánchez. He looked at my passport and ticket and asked me where my flight had originated. He said he couldn’t understand why my passport didn’t show any arrival stamps. I explained about the other security guard and the potted plants, but that didn’t make any sense to him either.
He called someone on his radio, and an electric cart soon rolled up with four additional officers. Each of the men questioned me, but basically, they all asked why I didn’t have arrival stamps on my passport, where I was coming from, and where I was going. The guards had a little conference, and then the guard named Sánchez walked over to me and explained what had happened.
The first guard I encountered had mistakenly opened the door on the right-hand side of the jetway instead of the door on the left-hand side. I asked what I should do now, and he said, “We can figure that out when you get out of prison.” I was nearly 100% sure he was joking, but it took him a second or two to smile, and then he told me not to worry. He walked me over to the arrivals desk and had security stamp my passport properly. Then he walked me over to the in-transit area, stopping on the way to buy us both ice cream cones!
