Getting through Customs was a piece of pie( or was it easy as cake? Either way, they both go good with ice cream!). Waiting at Baggage Claim, I laughed out loud at the diminutive stature of the drug-sniffing dog. I had to ask one of the dozens of security personnel if that really was a drug dog. I couldn’t understand what was said, but they all laughed. I nodded and laughed too. Next thing I know, little Not-So-Fluffy was sniffing my bag. He instantly sat on his haunches, a sure sign to his handler that this bag contains heavy narcotics and the owner should be thrown in the prison for decades. Sudden panic raced around my cerebellum, synapses connecting like lawyers in love, thinking that someone planted something in my bag. This could be really bad. I could be forgotten in a cold gulag cell without fresh ground coffee or free Wi-Fi! Aggggghhhhh..
“Do you have any food in your bag sir?”, the security guard asked. ‘Who?What?Where?Ididn’tDoIt!It’sNotMineYouCan’tProveIt’ is what almost came out of my mouth. Instead, with a deep sigh, I revealed my stash by pulling out my Cliff Bar. Cujo Jr. and Barney Fife continued on their merry way. To think I almost spent 15 years on The Rock for a piece of oatmeal and nuts. The next guy didn’t look as innocent. He must be guilty, just look at the expression on the side of the luggage cart in the photo!
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