The Story About The Cigars

I grew up in Southern Ontario.  My father was a Canadian and my mother an American.  Every year, we travelled down to the United States for the American Thanksgiving to visit my mom's side of the family.  My sisters and I were trained to act properly at the border crossing...make eye contact, don't mumble, be polite.  It was always a game for my sisters and I to determine which line Mom or Dad should get into for the nicest border crossing agent. 

One situation stands out in my mind...normally we had a few purchases to "declare" when we crossed over, but there was a trip we made that my parents explained that we had bought nothing.  The officer obviously did not believe them and incredulously continued his questioning.  Surely, we had purchased something.  We'd been in the country for several days.  We would have had to buy gas for the car at a minimum!

Lesson learned.  Before that trip, we simply kept receipts for souvenirs, clothes and gifts...after that, my parents decided that they would keep at least a few receipts from gas and food purchases.  The takeaway was that you should always have something to show at the border. 

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Steve and I took a trip to Cancun in December of 2008.  It was a great vacation!  I am not a huge purchaser of souvenirs, so I did not buy anything while we were there.  Steve wanted to get some cigars for a friend. 

We went to a small shop and found the display.  Steve did not have much experience with cigars, so the choice took a little while, but he finally selected a couple and we left. 

The following day, we boarded our plane from Cancun to our connection in Dallas.  When we arrived in Texas, we went through customs to get our bags and have them re-checked to go to Indy.  Steve whizzed through his questions without issue and stood waiting for me as I spoke to my agent.  My guy asked if I had anything to declare.  Remembering lessons from the past, I told him that I had not purchased anything...but my boyfriend had purchased cigars for a friend. 

He asked me if they were Cuban.  I said that I wasn't certain, but yes, the packaging might have read "Cuba".  He pointed to Steve and asked if that was my boyfriend.  "Yep!" I proudly confirmed. 

I began to get concerned when Steve, shooting darts out of his eyes, was called back to my line.  The officer told us both to get our bags and follow the red line.  The 'red line' led into a huge room with only a couple of officers.  I was beginning to think that the 'red line' was not a good thing. 

It was in that room, as an officer took every item out of our bags, and we received a lecture about bringing items into the United States from Cuba.  He said that we could be facing prison time, as well as a fine up to 50K.  I apologized profusely, pleading ignorance.  I know that you must be thinking I am not too bright, but I had no idea.

The agent wanted to see the cigars.  I took them out of the bag and handed them over.  He looked them over and then unscrewing the top, said, "What in the world is this?" as Steve and I stood frozen.  What else could possibly go wrong?

He pulled out the supposed cigar revealing a bottle with spray top.  He spritzed the liquid into the air.  I was petrified, wondering first if this liquid was a biohazard and then worried about our possible upcoming incarceration.  Would they put us in a white-collar lock-up? 

The stench that filled the air was the strongest, cheap perfume I have smelled.  The agent sternly said that given this new twist -- obviously the "cigars" Steve had selected were, in fact, tubes of cheap perfume made to look like Cuban cigars -- he would need to go and discuss our case in the office.  We stood waiting for him to decide our fate. 

I became somewhat annoyed when I saw our guy in a glass-walled office gesturing and talking to a uniformed group and heard loud guffaws echoing throughout empty security area.  He hid his mirth when he came out of the office to discuss the outcome.  He told us that since we had intent to bring Cuban products into the United States, he was still going to "put a note" on our passports.  After another shorter lecture, we were free to take our stinky perfume and be on our way.

Initially, I failed to see much humor in the story.  Steve thought it was HI-larious that I had a "black mark" on my passport, and eventually after realizing that I would still be allowed to internationally travel, I thought it was funny too.  :)

For years, we kept those tubes of perfume in our mud room and would laugh each time we remembered our Cancun/Dallas adventure.