{"id":551,"date":"2017-05-01T00:00:03","date_gmt":"2017-05-01T07:00:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/?p=551"},"modified":"2023-06-28T17:58:03","modified_gmt":"2023-06-29T00:58:03","slug":"the-leaking-room","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2017\/the-leaking-room\/","title":{"rendered":"The Leaking Room"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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The Leaking Room<\/h1>\n\n\n<\/div>\n \n \n By<\/span>Jan Bross<\/strong>\n \n May 1, 2017<\/span>\n <\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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The room is gloomy and bleak. It gets smaller by the minute. I am consumed with claustrophobia. The white walls are entrapping me, the \u201cWelcome to America\u201d posters encroaching on my face. The people sitting around me don\u2019t help either. The cold wooden chairs are too close together. I guess they have to be, or else they wouldn\u2019t all fit. There has to be room for the officer\u2019s desk. I think I\u2019m coming down with germophobia from all the people sitting there with me. It\u2019s a full house today. I\u2019m guessing it\u2019s the same kind of people as always. It would be an average Sunday at the office if not for me.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t think they get a lot of folks like me, and I don\u2019t mean Mexican. They get plenty of those. What I mean is nebbish college freshmen that look like they\u2019ve never gone out on a sunny day. Even after emerging right from the beach, I\u2019m still paler than most of the people in here. I stand out like a Rice Krispie in a bowl of Cocopuffs. This makes me feel more alone.<\/p>\n

If this is going to happen every time I go back home, I\u2019m never leaving this country again. There\u2019s a light that won\u2019t stop flickering. It\u2019s driving me crazy. I think I should tell someone to fix it. No.\u00a0In these moments, the best thing for me to do is keep my mouth shut. Maybe if I don\u2019t cause much of a fuss, I\u2019ll get out in less than an hour.\u00a0Dammit<\/em>.\u00a0The roof is leaking.<\/p>\n

What else can you expect from a ceiling like that? It hasn\u2019t received maintenance in years. The leaking is getting worse. Water drops on my uncovered knees. Why did I wear shorts? This of all days. It isn\u2019t even that hot. They make me feel comfortable, generally. I always fly with these. But now a few moments of comfortable legwear have lended to this everlasting suffering. I feel an acute pressure in my crotch. Probably because of the leak, in some kind of subconscious association. I need to tell someone. I look around the white room. Is it me or are there fewer people? How many were there before? It looked like a thousand, though I bet that was only because they were squeezed together like sardines. Who do I even ask? There\u2019s no one here who can help me. Only the officer, behind the desk, and he seems to be busy with some woman. When is she gonna stop crying? I hope she doesn\u2019t sit beside me, or I\u2019ll have two leaks pouring on my legs. I\u2019m practically soaking now. I need to tell the officer. Sorry lady, I feel bad about you wanting to see your family, but it\u2019ll have to wait.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me\u201d I say softly.<\/p>\n

The entire room is silent. Eyes on me. I\u2019m the sudden protagonist in this crowded setting. The woman is not crying, the officer is not shouting and it even seems the ceiling has stopped leaking. He\u2019s looking directly at me. He\u2019s accosting me with his eyes. The air in the room is now just tension, and maybe soon the smell of my own urine. I am going to explode. This silence must be broken.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need to pee.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think you are in a position to talk?\u201d he shouts with a strong Brooklyn accent \u2013 and I mean Larry David strong.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you getting funny with me, boy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want me to get funny?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you retarded?\u201d<\/p>\n

That wasn\u2019t very nice.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI asked, are you fucking retarded or something?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure if I understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cListen, just sit there and shut the hell up. You are a felon right now. If I were you, I would start thinking of an excuse for what you did.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so I did. At least I would have done it if I knew what I was being accused of. A few hours ago I was enjoying some oysters on the beach. Now I\u2019m in a Kafka-esque nightmare soaked with every kind of imaginable liquid. The leak, of course, but also the tears. My shoulder is covered in snot from the people sitting beside me. I don\u2019t blame them. There aren\u2019t even any Kleenexes. This was my favorite shirt though. It has Darth Vader on it. I can\u2019t even look at it now, it depresses me. Maybe these are my own tears. Maybe I started crying. Not because I was overhearing the conversation of the woman who only wanted to get into the country to see the teenage son she hadn\u2019t seen in 14 years, but because I literally could not hold my pee for one more second. It makes me sound awful, I know. For some reason, the woman\u2019s crying makes me want to pee even more. \u201cFourteen years,\u201d she kept repeating. \u201cI have a son, please!\u201d There\u2019s a beat. It\u2019s horrible to say, but there is, and I need something to entertain me in this prison of a room. I need to get out.<\/p>\n

I have to get out. I feel like I\u2019m going to have a panic attack. None of this should be happening. I did everything right. I had my papers, my passport, all of it. Why can\u2019t I just go to my dorm room and go on with my life? I want to scream until my lungs leave my body. Everything they told me about these places was true. How to define it in terms of quality: It\u2019s like the chicken they serve at my university\u2019s cafeteria, but worse. Believe me \u2013 that\u2019s as bad as it gets. I don\u2019t know how long I\u2019m going to be in this room. The woman is still there. Her face is different though. It\u2019s as if she has changed it like three times. I don\u2019t know what to make of it, but I need to get out. Why am I even here? I don\u2019t even remember how I got into this room. Maybe this is hell. Maybe I got hit by a bus and died and now I\u2019m in hell, condemned to spend eternity at the brink of pissing my pants and listening to an endless number of Mexican ladies beg the Trump-loving officer.<\/p>\n

And that whistle. My lord, someone might as well insert a razor into my ears. I love what he\u2019s whistling, though. Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Da, Zip-a-Dee-Day, Wonderful Feeling, Wonderful Day<\/em>. It\u2019s a beautiful and despicable type of irony. I can just tell by that, that Officer Whatever is the kind of guy people aspire to be like. He absolutely loves his job. I bet he\u2019s never seen this job as a burden for a single day in his life. He loves deporting Mexicans. That\u2019s his thing. Some people are good at baseball, others are good at destroying lives with no remorse. And by lives, I am referring to the life of my bladder. He\u2019s in good shape too. I bet he works out every morning so he can look his best when he comes to work. He\u2019s even got this\u00a0presidential\u00a0sort of look \u2013 straight back, thick hair, glasses. I respect that. At least he looks like he belongs in a position of power, however miniscule it may be. It doesn\u2019t matter to him, he has it, and that\u2019s all. I\u2019ve never experienced it, but I bet it\u2019s the best feeling in the world. Having the power in your hands to drastically affect the outcome of someone\u2019s life. Who wouldn\u2019t accept a job like that? They\u2019re basically paying you to play God. Even if you had to work in this shithole of an \u201coffice\u201d and had to deal with your least favorite minority on a day-to-day basis, you\u2019d still come in every day with a smile embedded in your face and a song in your heart. And he did. For him, this is a wonderful feeling, and this is the most wonderful day there could be.<\/p>\n

Now I\u2019m fainting. The leak is drilling into my head, punching my bladder. I can\u2019t hear anything else. The white walls are a white blur. Maybe this is purgatory and now I\u2019m being sent to Heaven. At least I hope it\u2019s heaven. Or maybe I can just pass out and piss my pants.<\/p>\n

\u201cBross!\u201d His presidential<\/em>\u00a0voice calls my name right on time. Thank God I didn\u2019t faint. I would have been arrested for pissing all over the parole office. I can barely stand, but I do, amongst all the people waiting, and go up to the front of the room where his desk is. He never looks away from me. I\u2019m just glad I got away from the leaking ceiling, but now my face and pits are leaking. What do I do? How do I act? Do I ask why I\u2019m here? Do I demand my rights? Lick his balls? There\u2019s no time to think.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake a sit,\u201d he says firmly. I have to admit \u2013 he does command a presence. He stops whistling the second I sit. His smile disappears. It\u2019s like a poorly-done version of good-cop\/bad-cop. \u201cSo why are you here?\u201d All of his sentences are delivered in a punch.<\/p>\n

\u201cI honestly don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

My voice is soft and trembling. I\u2019m not sure if that was a conscious choice, to appear submissive, or if my bladder is affecting my speech.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think I\u2019m stupid or something?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all. I\u2019m just telling the truth. I gave my passport to the migration officer and he just sent me here.”<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you don\u2019t know why you\u2019re here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWow, you really are retarded.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maybe if my body wasn\u2019t begging me to get the hell out of there and find a bathroom as quick as possible, I would have told him to fuck off<\/em>, but I just nod instead.<\/p>\n

\u201cSon, you forgot your SEVIS I-20 Immigration Student Form to legally get into the United States.\u201d<\/p>\n

What the fuck is he talking about?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I reply, \u201cI am so sorry. I will not forget it the next time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh no, there will not be a next time. We\u2019re sending you along with these other fuckers back to Mexico.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor not having the proper documentation.\u201d<\/p>\n

This really is hell. I\u2019m going to get deported. Should I beg?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cPlease Officer, I didn\u2019t know better. I swear it will never happen again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s nothing I can do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI might have a picture of the document in my laptop.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen take it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so I do. I scroll through every document I have saved on my computer. What am I doing? Is this a diversion tactic? Have I gone delusional? Here it is. The SEVIS I-20 thingy. Now, the only thing I have to do is turn the computer screen and not piss my pants in the process.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere it is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want to be an American, son?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

No.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cWith all my heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

I might have gone too far with this one, but he bought it.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, I\u2019m going to let you go because you look like a good kid\u201d You look white so you\u2019re not as bad. \u201cBut this will be on your records.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir. Thank you so much, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

I get out of there as quickly as possible and go directly to the bathroom. I don\u2019t know exactly how long I was in there, but from the amount of pee I released, I would say a couple of hours. I\u2019m proud of myself, of how I handled the situation. It was like a poker game wherein I had the worst hand but had to pretend that I had a straight flush. It was a tasteful way to deal with an act of discrimination, if you could even call it that. Now I am here, in a well-lit LAX baggage room. Now I realize that it was more than one woman. They were at least three of them with the same problem. They probably did go back to Mexico, and won\u2019t ever see their sons again. I\u2019m shaky, but safe. Now there are no Kafka-esque distractions. There is no leaking room any more. No more cheerfully sadistic officers. No more wailing women. And for some reason, I think about these people more than when I was in there. I mostly feel sorry for the officer. He has to ruin someone\u2019s life to stay happy.<\/p>\n

That must be a drag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n\n \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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Jan Bross<\/strong> is a sophomore studying film and literature at USC. He was born and raised in Mexico City to a Jewish family, and has always had a passion for storytelling. His interest is in giving a voice to characters that are usually in the shadows, and he draws upon his background and experiences to realize this. His field of study is purely based on understanding and developing his storytelling skills, as it is the way in which he connects with and understands people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n\n <\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":288,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[30],"tags":[52],"class_list":["post-551","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-spring-2017","tag-prose"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Leaking Room<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/palaver\/spring-2017\/the-leaking-room\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Leaking Room - 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