I am not good at packing. This much I know. Now the customs officials in Mexico know too. Because there’s apparently stuff they’re not okay with.
Like hand cuffs.
So we’re in Mexico City for the connecting flight. We have to go through security again in order to get into the terminal and be bored for 3 hours. My carry on (You all remember Columbia?) rolls off the belt but they feel the need to do a hand inspection.
After seeing what mediocre clothes I packed, they asked to see what was in this locked steel box I had. Well, whatever, I thought. They obviously know how much I needed to bring cash to find a vacation.
So they open the box and see the money, a stack of business cards, and a pair of hand cuffs.
Plastic hand cuffs that I totally didn’t remember or even want to pack, but somehow ended up my suitcase.
The nearby Canadian diving enthusiast trying to get his crescent wrench back gives me a look. I point to the tallest of my friends, already through, and say, “He’s a rowdy one. These are for him.” I don’t think he bought it.
Customs inspector guy has to call over his supervisor. After some consultation and laughing incessently, the final word is “no” and they were taken away.
So I leave the security checkpoint, sans hand cuffs and this officiale seguridad comes running after me. She verifies my name and looks at my face. Then she writes down my name on her hand and is off on her way. Now whenever I make eye contact with an airport employee I see they’re writing something down.
I think I just made it onto one of those government lists.
Anyway, I also regret packing too much shampoo.
