THINGS NOT TO SAY TO
THE U.S. CUSTOMS AGENCY
by Jenn
Onofrio
“The chocolate’s so I can put up
with him, the liquor’s so he can put up with me,”
I chimed and Gay Jeffery the flight attendant laughed admiringly.
If she could only be my special fag-hag, he thought, and he
handed me my Duty-free Godiva and Johnny Walker Red.
I had consumed three First Class glasses of champagne
and one mix of gin and tonic, me and my one hundred-fifteen
pound body. Oh the ambitions of a girl so eager to make her
way back to New York City from Paris.
Upon de-boarding the plane, Gay Jeffery wished
me well and I staggered my way to Customs.
“Heyyyyyy, it’s me. I’m back
in town and I--”
“No cell phones please, Miss.”
“--just wanted to tell you--”
“Miss please turn off your cell phone now.”
“ALRIGHT ALREADY! Jesus!” I flipped
closed the flippy phone and marched directly to the Customs
agent.
“What countries did you visit?” The
man was flirting with me and I knew it, the slime!
“What countries do you want to visit,”
I smiled.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh you know what I’m talking about.”
A wink, a smirk, and flash of my red Dolce and Gabana halter
top...
“M’am I’m going to have to
ask you to answer my question.”
“What did you ask, again?”
“What countries did you visit.”
“France.”
“For business or pleasure?”
“Well that’s hard to say...”
He sighed at my charm, and I bellowed out a better suggestion
still. “Why don’t we,” I said, “go over
there and figure out if I have anything to declare?” He
picked up his security phone and started muttering sounds of
frustration. I plopped myself on his counter, propped up on
two uneasy elbows, and showed him my ultra pearly smile. “You
got a name,” I started.
“Miss, if you’ll come with us,”
a voice offered from just beyond my left shoulder.
“Give me a minute, I’m busy.”
“Miss.” A hand reached out and grabbed
me by the elbow, and I was suddenly holding myself up against
a long, narrow security table. “What’s in the bag?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The bag. What’s in there,”
he asked as a uniformed puppy sniffed anxiously at my purchase.
“Expensive taste, that dog,” I remarked,
and he shook his tail wildly.
“Have you been drinking, Miss?”
“How dare you!” The nerve of the
United State Customs Agency! How dare they suggest that I become
intoxicated mid-flight. I chuckled a little and removed my sunglasses.
“Well... maybe just a little.”
“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you
to come with me,” chirped another bird, and again I was
being whisked in yet another direction. In what seemed like
a matter of seconds, I was in a small, smelly detaining room,
crumbled up in a chair, drooling on my winter scarf. “Miss?”
...nothing.
“Miss?”
I awoke two hours later, hands bound with a makeshift
plastic handcuffing device. I was something of a grocery store
item--damaged goods, albeit.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?”
I muttered.
“You’re drunk, Miss.”
“Oh, I’m drunk? You’re FAT!”
It just never ended, my humility.
“You’ve missed your flight to New
York. You have been rebooked on a later one that leaves at seven.
Might we suggest you get yourself some food and maybe not another
glass of wine?” I looked around, a foreigner on my own
territory and sighed.
“Yes. Which way’s the food court?”
“Concourse C.”
“Thank you.” They handed me my things
and shooed me away in the right direction.
“You’re lucky, you know,” a
man called after me.
“How’s that?”
“You’re lucky this happened here
at home. If you’d have put up this scene in France...”
I laughed and shook my head, bleary from the champagne and lack
of energy.
“If you only knew,” I replied. I
walked away, two hours until takeoff, and checked the messages
on my cell. Five. Of course. I was supposed to be in New York
three hours ago.
“God bless America,” I mumbled, and
I staggered toward the beaming Chic-Fil-A.
....
Jenn is currently heading up a letter writing campaign against
the governor of Arkansas in an attempt to free the West Memphis
Three. She's one half the playwriting team of an off-Broadway
play of same topic, and she just finished her first novel. She
wants to tell you she had a damn fine time in France. Merci
beaucoup.
read Jenn's: A Fairy
Tale Ending for a Working Class Princess, or HEY
