No Entry

An hour away from Tokyo, in Yokosuka, there's a U.S. Navy Base. During normal days, the place is off limits to everyone without prior registration. But once every year, it is open to the public - during a local festival known as Mikoshi Parade (みこしパレード). This year, the festival was held last Sunday. As the name suggests, it's a procession of portable shrines (mikoshi) and floats. It is taken place along the main road in front of the Chuo Yokosuka Station (中央横須賀駅) and within the premise of the base. That's probably the only time when the public is allowed into the base.

There's a catch, though...

I've heard rumours that you can get really, really cheap Coke in the base; 100 yen for a dozen when that's not even enough to buy a 500ml bottle of Coke elsewhere. (Well, anyway, it's cheaper than anything.) Thinking I could confirm it for myself (and grab enough Coke to make it my staple food for a week or so), I decided to hop on the train and head there last Sunday.

After getting bored shotting photos of the parade by the road, I joined the crowd queuing up to enter the base. Obviously, bags need to be checked before entry. But I didn't make it all the way there. Whether it was because I resembled a perverted dog rapist - or a maniac who bombs public toilets, or an inhuman psycho who beheads cactuses - I was stopped 20 meters before the gate.

"Do you have an ID card?"

Of course I do, you idiot. Do you think I'm an illegal immigrant or what?

"Oh, you want me to show it to you? I thought you wanted an autograph."

The fella passed the card to a second fella who popped up beside him.

"One moment please."

After an eternity, the second fella came back and whispered to the first fella, "OK, it's genuine."

Cool. Do I really look that suspicious?

I was too dumbstruck to establish any intelligible conversation but this is how it'd go had I been able to.

"Thanks, but you could've just confirmed with me."

"Just doing my job, you know. Oh, we haven't done humiliating you yet. One more moment, please." After disappearing for a while, the first fella returns with a faint smirk on his face which he doesn't care to conceal.

"Okay, now what? Can I go in?" I try to sound as innocent as possible.

"Unfortunately, no. Because you're from Malaysia." He pointed to the part where "Malaysian" is proudly printed.

"And Malaysians aren't allowed into the premise without prior registration." It sounds so well-rehearsed.

"But, I'm no terrorist. I wouldn't even hurt an ant, I swear!"

"No no. Rules are rules. Now off you go."

"But, but... But..."

Of course, that conversation did not take place. But, the truth is, Malaysians were denied entry when the place was supposedly opened to the public. That's an interesting revelation. Who knows, a Malaysian is probably considered to pose a threat risk no less than a taliban. I presume, Malaysia is blacklisted by U.S.

That must be it, or it was just because I look like a beardless, heard-scarf-less, AK-47-less, accent-less taliban.