Sasquatch: The UK Customs Officer

I left LA Saturday afternoon for London. As much as I detest air travel, I was unusually happy as I boarded the plane, having been upgraded to first class for the initial leg of my journey to Philly.
It was a great flight. Sean, the scorchingly gay flight attendant, fed me a steady stream of complimentary vodka and tonics that made the thought of Coach from Philly to Gatwick almost bearable.
The second flight was uneventful, which is the best you can hope for on an overseas flight and, given that I was unconscious after popping two Benadryls, even if it had been eventful, how would I know? I disembarked and made my way to the Customs / Immigration queue.
Enter Sasquatch. She was, at best, 5'2 or 5'3. That's pretty short for a Sasquatch. Maybe "hobbit" would be more appropriate? Her hair was dark- and not just the hair on her head. The lady is what we call hirsute. She had a circular band-aid on her nose to complete the picture. I thought nothing of her at first except for the fleeting internal commentary, "Oh, I see the Home Office is mining the Commonwealth for more 'talent' again." The interrogation went like this:
S (Sasquatch): May I please see your passport?
T (Me): Of course. Here you are.
S: What is the nature of your trip?
T: I'm on holiday for two weeks.
S: Is this where you're staying? Pointing to travel info card. T: Yes, it is.
S: Is this a personal residence?
T: Yes, it's my friend's flat.
S: And what is your friend's name? I gave her his name. And how long have you known him?
T: For over 2 years.
S: And how do you know each other?
T: We met through work. Well, this is sort of true. What I happened to be doing when we met was indirectly career related and I'm sorry, but it's nobody's business; especially not Sasquatch's business. S: Is he your friend or your boyfriend? Her voice dripped with pure malice at this question. T: He's my friend.
S: He's your boyfriend.
T: No, he's my friend.
S: If he's your boyfriend, why don't you just say he's your boyfriend? Clearly, Sasquatch had an axe to grind. I didn't want to get into the complicated nature of my friendship with a guy I've had a school girl crush on for the last 2 years after being in transit for over 12 hours with a mild vodka and tonic hangover. Was I being profiled? Do I look dangerous? Granted, I was a bit rumpled after 2 long flights, but I was still presentable. Finally, I told the woman what she wanted to hear. T: Fine. He's my boyfriend. Can we just stamp my god d@%n passport already? S: When was the last time you were in the UK?
T: November 2006.
S: And why were you here?
T: For a job interview.
S: Is that why you're here now?
T: No, I told you I'm here on holiday.
S: May I see your return ticket?
T: I don't have my return ticket.
S: So you flew here on a one-way ticket?
T: No, I purchased round trip tickets, but the airlines typically don't print your return tickets on the same day as your departure. They print them when you check in on the day of your return.
S: Do you have your email confirmation printout?
T: No, I'm afraid not. I printed it out, but forgot it in the hurry of getting to the airport. If can get an Internet connection, I'm happy to show you my email on my laptop. Is there a problem?
S: So you had a job interview in the UK? You wanted to live here. What happened? I explained I'm a Clinical Psychologist and that I'd sought employment with the NHS, but in order to receive my credentialing, they required me to do the equivalent of a second doctoral program. No effing way. The first one was masochism enough to last a lifetime. Ah ha! You are a student!
T: No, I'm not a student. I'm a doctor of Psychology. I'm here on holiday visiting friends. I'm no longer seeking employment with the NHS.
S: Why don't you want to work in the NHS? What are your long-term plans?
T: I have a great job in the States. What do you mean "what are my long-term plans?" I'm heading back to the States on the 16th, going back to work and then celebrating the holidays. I haven't thought much further ahead.
S: When was the last time you saw your boyfriend?
T: November 2006. I told you, he's a friend.
S: When was the last time he was in the United States?
T: I don't know. He's never visited me there. You'd have to ask him.
S: What is his phone number? I gave her the information. I'm going to call your boyfriend now. I'm keeping your passport. Please have a seat over there.
T: He's not my boyfriend. He's just a friend. I felt like I was losing my mind. This was truly crazy-making. I would've been amused had I not been worried about being barred from the country, losing my much needed vaca. Shortly after Sasquatch disappeared behind a metal door, Ben the affable Customs officer escorted me to retrieve my luggage. I asked him, "What's the problem?" He said something I said must have concerned his colleague. Ben began the good cop interrogation. I asked if I was being subjected to this because I'm American. I went so far as to apologize for George W. Bush and the 49% of the country that voted for him. Ben assured me they would "straighten everything out."
Ben went through my luggage, item by item, asking about my favorite American "telly" shows. Apparently, his girlfriend can't get enough Ugly Betty. This episode was now bordering on the Surreal. After rummaging through my bags, Ben escorted me back downstairs to wait for Sasquatch.
After what seemed like an eternity, Sasquatch re-emerged from the metal door and waved me through. She graciously allowed me to enter the UK, but stamped on my passport that I only have permission to stay through December 16th. I thanked her for being so "generous" and wished her a good day.
Just goes to show you, no one is safe from the brute stupidity of bureaucracy. What about the people who actually fit "profiles?" How are they treated? In the grand scheme of things, this bit of ridiculousness makes for an interesting travel tale. I'm fortunate and privileged. What if my skin were dark or I wasn't fluent in English? Then what?
Immigration is a hot issue in both the UK and the US. My question is this: Who are they protecting us from and why does it seem like they usually let the dangerous people in and keep the educated professionals out on both sides of the pond? Many of my friends are foreign doctors who can't practice in the US because of archaic credentialing practices; the same is true in the UK. Both countries need more qualified doctors. What are we doing?