“Miss. Please bring your bag over here,” says the customs agent.
Those are not the words you want to hear. Ever. Even if you know there’s nothing of a suspicious nature in your bag. There’s still that brief moment when you start to wonder…Is there something? Could a kilo of heroin have hopped into my suitcase?
“Miss, please. Your bag,” she says again. I take my suitcase off the x-ray scanner and roll it over to the special inspection counter. Is it the bottle of vodka I just purchased from duty free? This is a dry Muslim country. Although, since I did buy it in the airport, it does kind of feel like entrapment. The shifty sales clerk encouraged me to take more.