little bitty girl

I have this thing with clearing customs. I tend to be very, very honest. I think part of this has to do with the fact that I travelled so much last year and I always seem to be the one getting pulled for searches. Never mind that there is some big, burly sketchy looking guy ahead of me, they just flag them through. Sure, just pull the innocent looking, often sleepy (darn those early morning flights) little Asian and go through her anally packed suitcase. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. It drives me nuts because it takes so long for me to fit everything just so.

The worst part is when they look at my birth date and then my face, then my birth date again. Always the same type of statements about how young I look. Now, looking young is a great asset, I agree, but not when you travel for work and they think you're a teenager. I have a feeling they think I am either a mail order bride or something even more sinister.

Anyway, another reason for the honesty is a stylist friend of mine once lied about her purchases and now she gets flagged every time she crosses the border. I would rather pay the duties and customs fees than to be in the system as a troublemaker. I get rather nervous about this and so the complete honesty kicks in and this is usually what happens when they ask whether I have anything to declare.

"Errmmm...." (Big Breath and verbal diarrhea ensues)

"One skirt, polka dots, the black can almost be navy, it's really cute, kind of nautical.... Two necklaces but they were for a street vendor so it wasn't too expensive. Do I have to declare magazines because I bought at least 5 but I don't think they should count because everyone needs reading material, don't they? I got some presents and I don't really know how much those cost...but they were two of the cutest Paul Frank underwear, a sweater, a book, some great monogrammed stationary, a Jill Blissen journal that I've been eyeing for awhile...."

Usually when the customs officer is a man, I can see his eyes mentally roll back and there is a slight struck, glazed over look. They usually raise their hand, wearily stamp my form and wave me through. I think next time, I'll just write a list and hand it to them to save them the headache and my nervous stammering.