4 Smuggle Up

When it comes to vacation souvenirs, shopping is fun, but really I’d rather play like a three year old and see what I can dig up in the surf. My most recent last minute Mexican getaway was no exception. Upon arrival I told myself I was leaving with just one piece of sea junk. Just one. I was good on my last Mexi vacation and ended up coming home with only this prize winning companion in tow…

 
I loved him so much, I knew I had to smuggle another one of his cousins across the border.

But when I got here…

 
..and found all these…

 
…bringing home just one was no longer an option. I really had no choice but to make a valiant attempt at leaving no man behind. So packed securely in my carryon, I contemplated my game plan for dodging airport security.

I thought of every possible scenario from: casually reading the “if-you-have-any-of-these-items-in-your-carryon-including-an-excessive-amount-of-sea-paraphernalia-you-will-most-definitely-be-the-disgrace-of-your-nation-not-to-mention-locked-away-for-the-rest-of-your-puny-little-life” list and providing a cheerful “Nope!” to throwing an all out fit complete with elephant sized tears and deafeningly loud “Let me keep one, just one!” should they discover my stash.

I was rehearsed and ready…and sure enough I was the lucky one selected for a luggage search just minutes before boarding the plane in Cozumel. My sister breezed right through, turned around to give me a “uh oh, you’re in for it” look and headed out to the tarmac.

The security personnel, who we’ll call Lola for these purposes, began with the pat down. While Lola was half my size vertically on a good day, horizontally was an entirely different story. Read this: Lola was not one to be messed with. Turn around, empty your pockets, take off your shoes…once satisfied that I was not harboring illegal material on my body, Lola grimaced and moved on to my carryon…I knew my life was about to be over. Lola opened every zipper, felt every corner, and poked every single inch of the perimeter of my rollaway carryon suitcase. Every single stinkin’ inch…except for the very middle of my bag, which of course was where the concealed goods were stashed…under four days worth of dirty drawers.

And that, my friends, is how you smuggle sea trash.