Papers please

The journey of the Mayflower had been a long and arduous one, lasting three months. Not being the best planners, the more than 100 occupants had eaten their entire food supply only 15 minutes into the trip, so they were forced to eat their socks. When they ran out of socks, they ate their sideburns. Those without sideburns went hungry, as was the tradition in times of want.

So when Bradford stepped off the ship for the first time, he looked up into the blue sky and offered that reknowned Prayer of Thanksgiving to the Creator: "Thank you, God," he prayed on high that historic day. "Thank you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much."

"Ahem."

Bradford looked to see where the "Ehem" came from. As far as he knew, he was the first human to occupy this part of the New World, and therefore shouldn’t be hearing the "Ahem" sound.

"AHEM!"

"There it is again!" Bradford shouted, jumping back. Squinting into the distance, which for him was about three feet, there suddenly appeared before him a man, tall and dark-skinned, wearing only leather pants and a vest of white beads.

"Who ist thou that you should make the ‘ahem’ sound?" Bradford asked.

The tall, dark man rolled his eyes. "Papers, please."

"I know not of which thou speaketh," Bradford retorted. "We are pilgrims, having journeyed three months time from England in searcheth of the New World."

"Yes, well, this world isn’t new, now is it?" the Indian said. "We Indians live here, don’t we?"

"I didn’t know," Bradford said, looking down at his big buckles.

"Well, now you do. And since this is our land, and as such, not yours, I need to see your papers."

Desperate, Bradford fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled wad of paper, which he handed to the Indian.

"Uh, this is a recipe for sponge cakes," the Indian said. "Look, I don’t have time for this. If you don’t have your papers, you’re just going to have to leave, that’s all there is to it."

"There must be something we can do," Bradford said. "Perhaps we can trade. We’ve got several good sideburns on board. Mmmmmm!"

"With Hollandaise sauce?"

"Alas. Nay."

"Look, here’s what you can do. Have each member of your party fill out an A-7L form. If you don’t have pens, you can share this one. But I want it back. I know how you people are.

"After you fill out the form, you will sail back to England. When your papers are processed, you will be allowed to return. It usually takes about six years. Once you return, you will file an M-2.7a. Are you getting this? Because I’m not going to repeat it. Once the M-2.7a is processed, which usually takes about three years, you will be allowed to seek employment. Should you attempt to seek employment or otherwise live in our land without proper documentation, you will be subject to arrest. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes," Bradford said, dreading having to give the bad news to the others.

"That’s ‘ya-hay," the Indian said sternly.

"Huh?"

"We don’t say ‘yes,’ we say ‘ya-hay.’ If you’re going to live here, you’re going to have to learn the language."

As the Mayflower sailed back to Europe, Bradford shared with the others the frightening story of his encounter with the inhabitants of the New World. The passengers were astounded.

"Did those Indians think they owned the New World?" they muttered. "Who do they think they are, anyway? All we want is a better life!"

Meanwhile, back in the New World, the tall Indian was shaking his head: "You let one boatload in, and you open the floodgates -- all those white people with their white people ways."

And though it was never officially recorded, at exactly the same moment William Bradford and the Indian -- separated by miles of sea -- both uttered, "I mean, really. How uncivilized."