Customary liar

Last week, I mailed a piece of Korean chocolate to joliecanard in Canada. When the time came to fill out the customs declaration, however, I wrote "Chinese toy". I can't help it; it's an ingrained habit by now.

It didn't always used to be this way. During my first trip to Europe, I collected a sheep's skull while hiking in the Yorkshire Dales over spring break. When I mailed it to myself in order to avoid having to carry it around with me throughout France and Spain, I cheekily labeled it "DEAD ANIMAL PRODUCT". This did nothing to impede its progress through the post.

But then on my return to the States, a US customs official pointed to a paper bag in my hand and asked, "What's this?" "My lunch," I replied and was sent to the USDA representative. When he discovered that the sandwich in my possession contained prosciutto (an uncooked meat product), he immediately confiscated the entire thing ("Can't I eat it here?" "No.") and I went hungry during the several hours of my layover at JFK.

Lesson learned. Several years later, when Nuphy and returned from a trip to visit nitouche in Toronto with a kilo of frozen, uncooked peameal bacon, I told the agent we had no food products in our possession. Result: A blissful month of peameal bacon consumption in the comfort of my own home. So when monshu and were filling out our declarations on the flight back from Seoul and he asked, "What did you put for this?" (11. Mark an X in the Yes or No box. Are you bringing with you: a. fruits, plants, food, or insects? I immediately replied "No".

"But what about the nuts? And the tea?" (I had a bag of pistachios and some loose tea.)

"If we tell them about those, they'll take it away. If they search and find it, I'll pretend like I forgot I had it with me and be very apologetic."

Do I feel good about this? No. But I'm not sure what other choice I have with a system that actively rewards deceit and harshly penalises honesty. Even supposing they had let us keep our (utterly harmless) processed foods, getting to that point would've meant standing in yet another long line right after a nigh-sleepless twelve-hour flight.

What would work better? Hard to know. For a start, I'd be much more willing to cooperate with the USCBP if they weren't invariably such dicks during the few moments I do have to deal with them. (This last time, the customs agent was actually fine; it was the immigration officer alone who took responsibility for filling their quota of asshattery, but that's a story for another time.) Until they change their attitude, though, I--along with countless others--will continue the policy of "easier to beg for forgiveness than ask permission", with who knows what consequences for US agriculture, food safety, and so on.