20 Years Ago – Initial UK Mission Aborted

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

In early 1996, things weren’t looking too promising. I’d done gigs overseas at US military bases in the two previous years, but my main booker and supporter died late in ’95, leaving nobody to continue in his place. Meanwhile, work on the home front was virtually non-existent, to the point that my then wife was actually making more money teaching weekly yoga classes at The Comedy Store than I was making there as one of the club’s “paid regular” comics.

I got what I thought was a blessing from somewhere when the prospect of working in England came up. My friend Steven Alan Green had been over there and was doing well, suggesting that I try it for a couple weeks. I had little to lose other than more money, so I booked a return flight from New York to Heathrow, planning to spend a couple days seeing relatives before heading out there. Also my in-laws had free tickets from LA to New York that they weren’t going to be able to use before they expired, so they kindly passed one on to me along with some British currency they had left over.

Things all looked good, as Steven had booked a few one-niters in London and there were several places I’d be able to showcase. There was just one little spanner in the works here that I didn’t even bother to think about, and nobody on the US end even mentioned: I had to LIE, which several exes will testify that I’m terrible at. Specifically, I’d have to lie to the customs people about why I was coming over there.

I was all excited on the flight over, befriending some of the other passengers, telling them where and when I’d be playing in London. The adrenaline rush kept going through me, especially as the plane arrived on a clear night, and as the plane hovered before landing, I noticed for the first time cars driving the opposite direction. Wow, I’m really doing it, I thought to myself. That excitement lasted until about the 30th second of my customs interrogation.

The kind lady in the booth noticed I put my occupation down as entertainer. She asked what kind of entertaining I did. I said stand up comedy. She then asked if I planned to work in UK, and too late I discovered that was the curtain coming down. I hemmed a bit, then said, “Well I hope to do a bit of showcasing.” From there, each question got a little more probing, and my answers got a little more vague, prompting the lady to ask me to step out of the line and be detained until they could assess my situation a bit more. This detention would mark almost an hour from when the plane landed.

It was clear I had no work permits, which I didn’t know I would have needed regardless of whether I was being paid or not. Another hour passed, during which the lady and her supervisors went through all my bags, and found a very incriminating diary which listed dates and cash amounts. They eventually came back to me and said they were going to deny me entrance to UK, and that I’d have to return to US on the next available flight, which wasn’t until the next afternoon. I’d have to fend for myself, and confiscated my passport, though they did give me a bunch of coins with which to make phone calls.

Once I had determined what I would do for the remainder of the evening, I had to undertake a crash course in learning the London Underground, followed by a journey that would take another hour. I only remember getting to Victoria station, then taking a black cab to a spot near the Thames where Steven would meet me. Somehow he was there, and while we talked about possible ways I could beat the system and stay there, the one hitch was the confiscated passport, so I was pretty much stuck. I was feeling like a criminal even though, as I’d said in vain to the customs lady, “All I’m here for is to make some people laugh.”

I managed to sleep, Odd-Couple style with Steven in a single bed hotel room he’d been staying at, with little space for any of my excess baggage, literally and figuratively. Of course, the sleep was minimal, possibly three hours, before I had to do my entire ordeal again. Steven did me some major favors, though, not only giving me lodging, but paying for a cab to return to Heathrow, and giving me a couple of $50 travelers’ checks. He had money to blow at the time, and I imagine without him being there, I’d have just spent the night and next day in Heathrow hating myself and my life. As it was, my passport now had a little X on it, meaning admission denied, that I had to explain every time I would travel anywhere, at least until that passport expired.

My nightmare would continue once I arrived in New York. Oddly, one of the first things I saw at customs after I’d gone through was some immigrant being detained and getting testy, and I overheard the agent saying, “You want me to make it tough for you? Well that’s exactly what I’m gonna do!” It was early evening, thus mid-afternoon on the West Coast, and I called my wife to tell her the sad news, not to mention that it was too late to book the return flight to LA, and I’d have to wait til the next day.

I’d called the wife from a phone booth, and for some reason had taken my wallet out, leaving it next to the phone. After I’d updated her, I now decided to go to a nearby information booth. I got as far as the lady behind the counter saying “May I help you,” and me saying “Oh, FUCK,” realizing I’d left my wallet in the phone booth. Sure enough, I ran back and it was gone! At least I hadn’t left my passport, thank god for small favors.

I fortunately remembered my cousin’s phone number and called him just for consolation. He offered to come out to JFK Airport, pick me up, even though he was in New Jersey, easily an hour each way, and I could stay the night. I hadn’t planned on staying over, but I hadn’t planned on losing my wallet either, so given how harrowing the past 24 hours had been, at last something was going right, and I’d receive better news later that night.

I called the wife again once I got settled at my cousin’s place, and she said she’d gotten a call from some lady in New York, asking if this is where Brian Seff lived. It was actually a good Samaritan who’d found my wallet, and she was checking to see if the address on my driver’s license was the correct one so she could post the wallet. The wife gave me the woman’s phone number, and I called her the next morning to thank her. I offered to reward her by saying, “Hey, take one of those travelers checks, it’s the least I can do,” but she was of the mind that it was karma, and that something good would happen to her anyway. The wallet arrived only two days after I got back.

Oh yeah, the flight from JFK took off during a severe thunderstorm, and only about three minutes into the flight, the plane was struck by lightning. Fortunately, the plane was equipped for that, and that was the worst we had to endure.

I think the greatest insult I got from that whole debacle was about two weeks later, when I saw two things in the news that upset me. One was the Dunblane (Scotland) massacre, one of the earliest occurrences of a lunatic with a gun killing masses of people, in this case pre-school children. The other was a quickie piece on OJ Simpson arriving at Heathrow Airport for a holiday. Great, I thought, they’ll let a non-convicted murderer in, but little me they turn away. At least there’s a modicum of justice: OJ has been in jail now for about 5 years on different charges, I’ve been living peacefully in UK for 13.

January 23rd, 2016



Leave a Comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.