Romania-Moldova border post, 2008
“Passports, please,” said the customs official, holding out his hand to the young, blonde lady in the passenger seat of the Dacia Logan Van parked at the barrier. Slowly, she turned to face him, and slightly lowered her dark glasses. The sight of her eyes shocked him to the point that he very nearly screamed aloud, but something in her stare caused it to stick in his throat.
“I showed you our passports, dear,” she said, very clearly and deliberately. “Don’t you remember? Of course you do… and they were all perfectly valid. Now, may we please proceed?”
With a glazed, bewildered look, the official trudged back to his booth and raised the barrier.
