My husband, Marty, and I were reminiscing the other day about some of our past vacations and the crazy antics that have ensued during our various voyages.
We’ve traveled in the states mostly, but we have a few “passport needed” trips under our belts, too. Over the years, we’ve done a cruise, gone to the Bahamas, Jamaica, and Mexico, and I learned long ago that Marty was not a sightseeing traveler. He’s not interested in the tours and walking around cities or churches or historical sites. His favorite thing to do on vacation is to have a lounge chair on a beach or by a pool where pretty people bring us nibbles and sips, and that sort of relaxation is hard to argue with. We’ve spent many pleasant afternoons beside Jamaican pools sipping on Red Stripe beers and nibbling on jerk chicken, and I’d never say no to doing that a lot more often!
One of the things I love most about traveling is you meet new people from all walks of life. We’re pretty friendly people so we manage to strike up conversations easily. One time when we were in Mexico, we were staying at one of those all-inclusive places and hit it off with another couple . They were funny and intelligent, and we enjoyed hanging out with them. On our last night there, we all went to dinner, and afterwards we decided to have a nightcap on the beach. A bottle of champagne was delivered, and we toasted our new friendship and made the obligatory promises to stay in touch even though we knew we probably wouldn’t.
As we watched the moon rise over the ocean, the fellow in the other couple brought out a joint…a marijuana cigarette. At first I was nervous, but we were pretty far from anyone else and who knows? Maybe it’s legal in Mexico!
At any rate, the fellow lit that thing up and took a big puff. He passed it to his wife, and she got a lung full as well. While I may or may not have “dabbled” in marijuana back in my misspent youth, I have learned the hard way that smoking dried grass wrapped in cheap papers is something I should avoid at all costs. I just can’t do it…I literally feel like I’m going to cough up at least three vital organs. I cough and hack and practically pass out from lack of air!
I took the cigarette when the wife handed it to me and sort of pretended to take a puff before passing it on. I watched as Marty did the same thing. We finished up the champagne and the joint and we all said good night to each other as Marty and I were leaving early the next morning.
Back in the room, I was stuffing all our dirty clothes in my carry-on to separate them from the clean things. We got to the airport and Marty wanted me to check both of my bags. I refused because it was $100 for the second checked bag. The carry on was light and had those spinning wheels so I figured I’d save that $100 for something better.
As we were going through the TSA security check, my bag, of course, was pulled to be opened. I sighed as Marty moved on ahead of me while the TSA agent did a body search that was so personal it really should have a mandatory dinner attached!
It was then I remembered the clothes both Marty and I were wearing the night before during our little “Reefer Madness” cocktails were in my carry-on. As the agent donned the rubber gloves to open my case, Marty must have remembered too because his eyes got really big.
They were going to open that suitcase and the smell of marijuana was going to permeate the airport! OMGOSH!!! What if a piece of the pot got on the clothes? What if a stem was in my luggage!
I was gonna be TOAST!
They would drag me through the airport in shackles! They would think I was part of the drug cartel! My life was over! I looked around for drug-sniffing dogs and said a quick prayer that I wouldn’t have to rot away in a Mexican jail with no chance of parole. Nobody would believe I never took a hit…heck…I didn’t even believe it! I had seen “Midnight Express,” I knew how this went!
Just as I was about to burst into tears, throw myself on the floor, and beg for mercy, Marty stepped up beside me.
“Just be cool, Julia… he’s just doing a routine thing…just doing his job. Smile!” Marty put his arm around me. “Act natural… just breathe.”
While I stood there with a ridiculous smile pasted on my face, a thousand things ran through my mind! I was going to jail…in another country! What were Mexican jails like? Would I become a political prisoner who would one day be used as a bargaining chip between the two countries? Would I have to become some huge woman’s jailhouse wife?
I could feel the color leaving my face and the sweat bubbling up and running down my back. Marty gave me a little squeeze and pointed to the agent going through my bag. He had just pulled out my travel manicure set. He unzipped it and looked at the various gadgets in it. He looked up to find me. He crooked his finger to call me over. I took what might be my last breath as a free woman and walked over to him.
“Señora…no.” He held up the manicure set and pulled out the metal nail file in one hand while shaking his head and wagging his other finger back and forth as he repeated “no.” He showed me the file one more time and then held it over the trash with a questioning look on his face.
I nodded. He dropped the file into the trash, threw the manicure kit back into the suitcase, zipped it, and handed it to me.
“Have a nice flight,” he said in English.
I gathered my things together and Marty and I started walking toward our boarding gate. Marty reached for my hand and pulled me toward him.
“I’ll bet you’ll pay that hundred bucks next time won’t you?” He chuckled when he said this.
“From now on, we only fly first class, Marty…they don’t charge for bags then!” When an opportunity presents itself you gotta grab it!
I’m Just Saying…
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