Nice Hat

There came a point, not far one direction or the other in time from that fateful September, at which I was returning to this country from studying in Europe. It was summer, and I had needed a large hat in order not to burn horribly while I puttered about the European countryside. This meant that I was wearing the hat while going through customs; large hats are somewhat inconvenient to pack.

At the customs desk at the end of the line, there was a young man in his twenties or so looking bored as bored can be. I handed him my passport with some moderate trepidation (I always feel slightly nervous when dealing in Official Papers). He took it, looking me straight in the eye, then glancing up at the hat, then back to me. He took his stamp, opened the passport to the appropriate page without looking, stamped, and said, "Nice hat," somewhat derisively.

He then handed my passport back and moved on to the next person with equal boredom.