Our travel companions were waved from the baggage area
through one door and we were hustled through another. It was a fairly large
room that at first glance kind of looked
like a grocery checkout...except the people standing at the counters were in
uniform and armed and there were no tills...and, come to think of it, no
groceries. It wasn't like I could pick up a pack of gum on my way through.
“Have you been in recent contact with marijuana?” one
official asked as we followed his beckoning and pushed our baggage cart to one
of the counters.
"We just came from Jamaica,” I said. “Marijuana is
everywhere, there. Hotel security tries selling it to you—“
“I know,” he interrupted. “I’ve been to Jamaica.”
“I know,” he interrupted. “I’ve been to Jamaica.”
What I wanted to say: Then why did you fricken ask that
question?
What I actually said: Nothing
My husband carried on the conversation, explaining in more
detail the offer he’d received while getting on the shuttle bus to the airport
while I followed instructions and heaved the first suitcase up onto the
counter. While men talk, the women work—as usual.
“Did you smoke anything while down there?” was the next
question.
“We don’t use,” we answered in unison, me adding that we are
actually quite anti-drug
“What do you do for a
living?”
Hubby answered first saying he was a housing contractor
while I debated whether to say I ran the housing contracting office or to say I
was a novelist. Both were true. I hoped to say nothing but, “And you?” was
directed my way.
What I wanted to say: I write novels about gangs and drugs
and undercover cops and just finished a 23-stop author tour to schools and
libraries educating teens and the adults in their lives about the danger of
involvement in the drug trade...and I volunteer for the RCMP.”
What I actually said: Novelist.
“Were you near any cocaine while in Jamaica?” he asked.
What I wanted to say: Although Shrug, a cop character in my
BackTracker series, learned all about the international drug trade during his
four-year stint undercover with the fictional TRAZ biker gang, he never shared
that intel with me so there are large gaps in my understanding. Why would
anyone want to import marijuana to Canada from Jamaica when, from my
understanding, the best mj in the world is just over the Rockies in the
beautiful neighbouring Canadian province of B.C. And furthermore, it was not
like mj was dirt cheap down there or something. I heard they were asking for
$5.00 USD for one joint! How is it that I hear on the news about drug shipments
being intercepted by police on the way from Canada to Mexico? From Mexico to
Canada? From Toronto to Europe? From the UK to New York? I have this visual of
flotillas of cocaine and marijuana endlessly traversing the oceans of the world
waiting to be intercepted--
What I actually said: “Never saw any.”
We were asked about our customs declaration form and Alvin
told him the story about the error with the ring. My computer was pulled out of
its case and set aside. About then I decided I would buy another smaller
computer just for travelling. Unlike regular cops, Border officials do not need
search warrants and can search and/or confiscate whatever they wish without
explanation or justification. If I were to lose my computer with all my
writing...I’d die. I was somewhat comforted by the fact I had taken the time to
back up everything before I left, but all the photos from the trip and the
personal info on there. Border officials can even demand your passwords and get
info your bank files, history—anything else they wish to peek at. Seeing
someone manhandle my fuschia lace bra was invasive, but would be nothing
compared to the violation I’d feel if someone got into my laptop.
About then the ring in question was discovered in my change
purse. Note to self: fictional drug smugglers ought not to hide their stash in
change purses.
They were interested in our money, of which there was notably less than what we'd started out with two weeks ago and every receipt and bit of paper they could find. After uncovering the fourth "Comfort Pack" (blanket, earphones, ear plugs, eyeshades) that came with our upgraded airline seats, he asked, "Do they give these away, or what?"
What I wanted to say: Yes, actually they do. We did NOT steal them.
What Hubby said: Yes
What I wanted to say: Yes, actually they do. We did NOT steal them.
What Hubby said: Yes
Our Bubba Mugs, large insulated mugs for keeping beer and
strawberry daiquiris cold on the beach, were pulled out and opened. I’d asked
hubby to pack my sunglasses in the largest of the mugs. He had diligently
wrapped each of the three pair in facial tissue (I guess he didn’t realize
these are $3.00 sunglasses). Each pair
was unwrapped and examined. NOTE to self: Don’t have your bad guy
hide his stash in a bubba mug, or a wallet...or a birthday card.
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| Items of interest to the Border Officials |
I’d turned 50 (again) while in Jamaica (hence the ring) and
the birthday card from my friends, which seemed to interest the guy. He pulled it from
the envelope, shook the envelope, shook the card. Damned near sniffed it.
Perhaps it confused him that some of my friends had written, “Happy 50th!”
and others, (whom I like less) had written “Happy 59th! The ceramic
souvenir picture frame that had come with the card seemed of concern, as well.
Meanwhile the other officer who’d arrived to help with
search, was pulling Jamaican rum from the various suitcases he was into and
lining them up beside my laptop. We were getting mighty close to our liquor import
limit—if not exceeding it.
_________________________
The Drug Dog and I - Part II
was brought to you by
FIREWALLS
 |
| Drugs, Crime, Cops and PTSD |
