Getting Kicked Out of America

A Caddie’s Tale

I’m sitting in the interrogation room at Boston Logan Airport, twiddling my phone nervously in my hand. Johnny (not his real name) is sitting across from me, but the two of us have our heads down. The plan was that we don’t know each other. We’re not here to work for the summer; we’re just here on holidays for a few weeks. Stick to the plan.

“No phones a…