Practice English Speaking&Listening with: My Bahamas TRAVEL DISASTER

Difficulty: 0

Hello, Internet, it's ya boi *Daniel* here.

As my new apartment video background currently looks like this...

which is like someone put a black-and-white filter

on a nice, normal corner someone would sit in

that is just my personality as furniture right there; it needs some work

please enjoy this 100%-true story time about a traumatising day of travel that I experienced.

So strap yourselves in, as we're about to go to a whole world of suffering.

Despite me claiming to be focusing on my not-so-drastic metamorphosis into ~Daniel Howell~ right now,

earlier this year, I committed to going to perform at a YouTube convention in Florida with Phil,

and, since we'd already be there, stay for a few days to have a little holiday.

Now, because we did that whole tour thing last year, me and Phil (Phil and I) have these professional U.S. working visas,

which ain't your regular tourist ones where you have to fill out that form

that says you're not a Nazi.

Ahh, that pesky genocide box catching me out again.

No, I'm allowed in a special queue because I am a professional

that sometimes *~works in the USA~*

Now if you wanna use this snazzy thing, you have to tell the government how long you're actually working for.

So I said to the embassy that I was at this convention for three days, but I figured that 'cause I still have a regular tourist visa,

if I wanted to stay for a bit longer, I could sit by a pool and get some stuff done.

Like changing my icon to something new, which everybody loved.

Or going through the description of every YouTube video I've uploaded

changing the social media links, which are now of course different,

so that affects the thing that I had at the bottom of my videos forever,

and also every collab that I have ever done on YouTube.

I didn't think this through.

So I land in Orlando, ready for this adventure, and start queuing up in the U.S. border control.

Now, I don't want to get in trouble for saying this or probed by anyone

*muttering* well, not anyone

but USA immigration is fucking terrifying.

Even if the worst thing you've ever done in your life is

steal a mint from your grandma's purse when you where 5,

you will feel like you have robbed a bank and they know it, everyone knows it,

you're gonna be caught, your whole life is gonna go up in flames, and you are a BAD PERSON.

So as I'm nervously stood, profusely sweating

'Haven't done anything wrong, haven't done anything wrong, haven't done anything wrong...'—

making me shimmer like a beluga whale, to the point where the passport scanning machine

doesn't even recognize my face...

By the way, the morning I had this photo taken, I looked rough.

I woke up at 6 AM, I hadn't showered

the photo booth that took it looked like it was built in the '60s...

This was my last photo, which I took in a Topshop photo booth,

which we actually made a poster out of.

Pretty bloody good, right?

This is the new one.

JESUS, it's like a before-and-after of taking every drug at the same time for a year.

I need to just get a new passport and burn this one.

We get to the front of the queue and there's two border agents that we could meet:

a stern-looking bald guy and a middle-aged woman that just

looked like a generic mum. So I valiantly volunteered...

Phil to go first.

He gets called over by the bald guy, which yeah,

made me feel slightly relieved, but in

less than 20 seconds after some

hilarious tiny banter that left them

both giggling, Phil goes straight through

and starts waiting for a suitcase.

So naturally when I get called over by the mum-looking lady,

I feel quite optimistic about this whole thing.

Turns out this I-go-to-church-and-




looking lady is literally the

They're listening, Dan; don't get probed.

a less positive person.

*violent keyboard smacking* 'Ugh. All right, NEXT!'



And then the question that anyone that probably has

any kind of job on the Internet dreads being asked:

'So, uh, what do you do for a living?'


Trust me when I say explaining the concept of making videos on the

Internet without them thinking that

you're some kind of porn star is

incredibly difficult and hard to


'I make YouTube content.'

'Isn't YouTube that place with the cat videos?'

'It's actually a bit more than that now.'

No chance. But then, as if I wasn't already

starting to drown under the weight of my

inarticulate blabbing beluga whale tongue,

she then says the worst thing imaginable:

'What kind of videos?'

'Uhh, comedy, I guess.'

'A comedian, eh? Oh. Tell me a joke.'


Way to put me on the fucking spot! What am I supposed to say to that? It's not like I have anything prepared.

I'll tell you what I did say:

'Well, not really a joke comedian.

'More of a person that shares his

'thoughts and opinions, or tells funny

'stories about things that have gone wrong in my life.'

'Ah. That sounds kind of sad.'

Well, she wasn't wrong, and what could I

say? She was inspiring. But then, just when

I thought I'd gotten over the worst of

it, my plans went up in flames.

'So it says here you're only at this convention for three days.'

'Yeah, but my friend is having

'a little family holiday after, so I

'figured I could stay for a few days and

'do some work over the Internet.'

'Well, you can't do that. If you're coming

'in on a professional visa, you can only

'stay for as long as you're workin': three days.'

It would seem I had fucked up, but

if there was a chance that I could say

something and get myself out of the situation...

that did not happen. In fact, I

said something that made it even worse:

'Okay, but my friend just got let through

'by that guy over there, and he's in the

'exact same situation as me, so isn't it

'just up to you to let me stay—'

'Are you questioning my authority?'

'What? No! No, no, III'm just saying—'

'Because if you want me to get my supervisor, he can take

'you back and you can explain this to

'him, and you can point out your friend,

'and I'll drag him back there too!'

'No! No, no, thatthat won't be necessary. Oh, God.'


Now, not that I'm ever a confrontational person, but as tempting

as it may seem to bust out the sass

because you think it's unfair, there was

a real risk of probing that I had to

respect, okay, so I did not want to push

my luck and didn't argue.

'But if I can only stay in the country for three days,

'then what amwhat am I supposed to do about this

'holiday that I'm tagging along to, or my flight home?'

'You can't do anything. If you want to be a tourist, you have to leave

'the United States and come back as a tourist.'

What the heck did that mean? If I

had to go to Mexico or Canada and back just to stay for a few days,

there'd be no point. I might as well just go back to England.

'So what should I do?'

'Take a day trip to the Bahamas.'


'It's a one-hour flight from Orlando to the Bahamas.

'You can do it 'n one afternoon. Bye. Next!'

And so, this is how I came to have

a day trip in the Bahamas.

After two days at a YouTube convention, while everyone

else was having fun community time and

getting ready to go to Harry Potter

World in the evening, I was packing a bag

and going to the airport again. Now a lot

of people who follow me on Twitter right

now will probably be going,

'Wait, that's what happened? What the f—'

See, I figured if the universe was playing this much of a

joke on me, it's only fair if I bring you

into it as well. I sat on the plane

and barely managed to listen to the new

Perfume Genius albumwhich is amazing, by

the waybefore I landed at Nassau

International Airport, Bahamas.

I figured that as I was actually doing

something so insane and bizarre, I might

as well have a little fun with it on the

Internet, so I posted this tweet and

Geotagged it at the airport, which

confused a lot of people on the Internet

because only two hours ago, I was seen

milling around the Convention Centre in

Florida. But hey, Dan must have gone on

a holiday, right? Why else would he be in

the Bahamas? Now, to say entering the

Bahamas has a different feeling to

entering America is like saying that

having sex with a human is different to

a porcupine who is shouting mean things

at you while it's happening,

which I don't want to, you know, make fun

of because I'm aware that some of you

watching this might be into that and I

don't want to shame anybody.

Instead of the oppressive glare of hundreds of

security guards and cameras and

threatening posters surrounding you from

every angle, the Bahamas border control

room had a steel drum band playing in the corner.


I was stood in a

sunny, chilled-out line, having a pleasant

fucking BOP for 10 minutes, looking at

adverts for margarita bars.

Now, I was slightly concerned that the Bahamas

border agent would find it kind of weird

that I was immediately leaving the

country an hour after arriving, but

honestly, he couldn't have given less of a shit.

'Right, so slightly complicatedI have to leave and re-enter the USA, and it turns out the Bahamas—'

'Hey, whatever, man.

'Take some sunscreen; you need it.'

'Oh, okay. Am I that pale?'

I went to the information desk and I asked,

'Hey, I'm here for an hour. What can I do?' and

got told that apparently, I had enough

time to go to the beach and get lunch, so

I was like, 'Sure, okay.' I went down to the

taxi rank and told the coordinator,

'Take me to the nearest beach.' There are about a

hundred taxis that have been waiting

for hours for the opportunity to pick

up a huge family with all their

suitcases and drive them to a faraway

hotel, which is lots of money, so when I

got into the cab and told the driver I

wanted to go to the nearest beach, he

flipped the fuck out and started shouting

out of the window he didn't queue up for

hours to take one guy to the beach which

is a five-minute walk away. How was I

supposed to know that? But it didn't

matter, because my driver got out of the

car and literally started having a fight

with the coordinator who put him in

there, in front of all of the people

queuing up for the airport and their

families. I just wanted to do something

pleasant with my afternoon, have a fucking

strawberry daiquiri to help get rid of

all this trauma that I've built up, and I

ended up causing bloody Taxis Civil War

in the Bahamas. So I thought, 'Fuck it,

'whatever. You know what, I don't care; I'm

'just going to go check into my flight an

'hour early, sit on the floor, and sip a

'sparkling water.' Because hey, it may not

be the Bahamas day trip of my dreams, but

at least I was about to finally fly back

and put this all behind me, right?

Oh, no.

The universe wasn't done with me yet. So I'm sat

on the plane as it drives around to the

runway, starts revving up, ready to take

off and leave all of this stress behind,

when everything suddenly goes quiet and

the captain picks up the PA saying,

'Ladies and gentlemen, er, sorry for the

'delay. We have a small technical problem

'that one of the engines has lost all


We were pointing down the runway, about

to fly into the air, and apparently, one

side of the plane just wasn't going to

cooperate. So I'm not necessarily a

nervous flier, but Jesus fucking Christ,

that is not something you want to hear!

So the pilot drove it back round to the

gate, we all disembarked, and they


the flight. Yup! With nothing but $20, a

pair of headphones, and a phone on

critical battery level, I was stranded

in the Bahamas. I know I'm not an angelI've

looked at some weird stuff on the

Internet over the yearsbut honestly, I

do not think I deserved this on that

particular day. So I prepare myself to go

back to the taxi rank, which, by this

point, I presume, is just a lake of blood

outside the airport, to take me to some

hotel, I guess, to stay the night, and I'm

about to hand over my passport to get

back into the country, when suddenly, the

airport announcement jingle goes off and

the very same captain from the Flight of

Doom says, 'Well, er, we managed to fix the

'engine, I guess, so the flight to Orlando

'is un-cancelled. Boarding starts in five

'minutes for an immediate departure.' Now,

deciding whether or not to get back on a

flight that was cancelled because one of

the engines wasn't working is already a

hard decision, but when that decision is

on the other side of an airport and you

have five minutes, I was genuinely

worried that running would kill me

faster than the flight.

'Wait a minute.'

I knew that I should get that flight, so I started to sprint through the airport

like a newborn giraffe just flailing

stupidly, long limbs all over the place,

with everybody staring at me like I'm an

idiot and just managed to reboard the

death flight. Yes, I was scared sat there,

okay, but honestly, after everything I'd

been through that day, I was ready for

death. I had accepted it. I had loaded up

my death Spotify playlist, I was looking

through all my tweet drafts of jokes that I

didn't know if they were too offensive

or not to post, and I closed my eyes.

Two hours later, with absolutely no issue

getting into America this timeof course

I was in Universal Studios at Harry

Potter World, sipping on a hideously-expensive

Butterbeer, which was tasty

but, with all of the sugar and exercise

I'd done that day, made me do a little

sick in my mouth. And there we go. That

was the story of my ever-so-brief trip

to the Bahamas. If you remember me

mentioning a lot of people were confused

with my whereabouts that day, well, it

turns out that Geotagging a tweet in

the Bahamas and then Diagon Alley within

two hours will definitely do that.

And now you all know the perfectly simple

explanation. Something like this could

only happen to someone who is hideously

unlucky, lacks just the right amount of

social skills to make everything

constantly worse for themselves, and

somehow knows enough people that telling

the story would re-balance the universe.

Who needs to move into a new apartment

and have a fresh start to come up with

some good, quality content ideas when

things like this just happen to you all

the time? Huh. Why does the universe hate

me? Give me a thumbs-up if you enjoyed

this, or maybe if you just pity me and,

let's be honest, things like this will

always happen to me, so if you haven't

yet and you want to stay tuned to the

reality disaster movie that is my life,

then you can click here to subscribe to

my channel, and make sure you ring that

bell if you want to get a notification

when I upload. You can relive my breaking

point which put me in this position down

there, and yeah, after some snacks and

soul-searching, I will see you for that

next video. Bye~ : )

The Description of My Bahamas TRAVEL DISASTER