| As I expected the queue was endless – it always is. But I read my book patiently and shuffled my bag along with my foot fully prepared for 2 hours or more in line. The guy behind me was getting good at Candy Crush. Others in line were taken off guard and were uttering small annoyances at the standstill impression at the immigration counters at KLIA. I know they are probably underpaid and underappreciated, but it’s no excuse for being a snotty-nosed, stuck up bore, with a uniform to confirm their self-importance. You will find no smiles, no wit, no apologies, nothing to indicate any welcome. Instead you will have to suffer through the slightly degrading treatment visited upon you by young arrogant officers, who have no inkling of manners and common courtesy. The silly girl with attitude took her own sweet time going through my passport. Or so I thought, and when I offered my help, dipping my head over the counter, it turned out she was fiddling with her phone. She knew and I knew right then that she was not doing her job. She was busted and instead of a meek concession to her inadequacies, she made a parody of aggressively telling me off for meddling in her affairs. Power and brains rarely go hand in hand. She had the power to refuse me entry on some stupid excuse and all I could do was withdraw with a mock “I’m sorry” – the humiliation was tangible, and she could cross off yet another disgruntled visitor. I took her name from her badge and hoped for her management to respond with some measure of efficacy. A hail Mary, I know. Judging from the five lethargic immigration officers on call to expedite the passenger build-up, management would be just as lax if it existed at all. Still waiting for their response. Mind you, once I entered Malaysia the people were all smiles, a generous and hospitable bunch, curious and talkative.