April 9, 2021


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.


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.


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- hand-out-cookies-for-free-because-I'm- the-kind-of-nice-person-that-probably- bakes-and-has-a-kind-of-cute-dog– looking lady is literally the— They're listening, Dan; don't get probed.

—a less positive person.

*violent keyboard smacking* 'Ugh.

All right, NEXT!' 'HELLOO!' 'Huh.

' 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?' 'Uuuuuhhhhh.






' 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 understand.

'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.

' 'What—what?!' 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, I—I—I'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, that—that won't be necessary.

Oh, God.

' Literally.

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 am—what 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.

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

'You can do it 'n one afternoon.


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 album—which is amazing, by the way—before 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 complicated—I 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 'power.

' 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 cancelled 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 angel—I've looked at some weird stuff on the Internet over the years—but 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 time—of 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~ : ).

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