Unfiltered Story #214164

, , , , | Unfiltered | November 2, 2020

(My dad and I are returning to Canada from a several month trip to Mexico. We’ve just gotten off the ferry from the US, and are going through customs.)

Agent: “Did you buy anything during your trip you need to declare?”

Dad: “Um… nope!”

Agent: “Please pull over into the lot for a search.”

(He pulls over and we get out. We are told we can wait in an office while they perform the search, since it is late at night in spring and rather cold, but we both decide to stay (my dad because it’s his truck and wants to be available to answer any questions, me because I had a bunch of prescription medication, and should they take issue with my bottles of pills I wanted to be there ready to take out the letter my doctor gave me for this exact reason). While they are searching the cab of his truck, they come across his surfboard repair kit. It includes resin, fiberglass, and powdered foam. The foam is *very* fine, and… well, looks kind of like cocaine.)

Agent: *holding the ziploc bag of foam* “Sir, what is this?”

Dad: “Oh, that’s powdered foam for repairing surfboards.”

(They accept this answer, put it back in his kit, and keep looking. Eventually they open up the center console, and find a bottle of pills we’d gotten down there.)

Agent: “Sir, we found these pills in your truck.”

Dad: “Oh!” *laughs* “I forgot we even had those. I don’t even know what they are; we got them for a friend at our campsite, but they’d left by the time we got back. You can go ahead and take them.”

(They keep on searching for a little while longer, but maybe 30 minutes after they started decided to stop. We think at least part of the reason they gave up so easily was how unconcerned we were; we had nothing to hide, so dad was just standing bored with his hands in his pockets, and I was sitting on the curb reading a book. They spoke to my dad again, where he admitted that he had bought a surfboard while in Mexico, which he hadn’t wanted to pay duties on.)

Agent: “So, did you forget, or did you not want to tell us?”

Dad: “I didn’t want to tell you.”

Agent: “Well, next time, just declare what you bought.”

(We get back in the truck, and are about to leave when the agent comes back to our window.)

Agent: “Oh, about those pills…”

Dad: “Oh, yeah, keep those. We don’t care about them. We don’t even know what they are!”

Agent: “Well, it’s an opiate, and it’s a prescription drug up here. So I need you to sign a form saying you surrendered them to us.”

Dad: “Oh, okay, no problem.”

(He signs the paperwork, and as soon as the agent is gone, he gives me a look and writes down the name of the pills for future reference. He has arthritis, and knowing the name of an over-the-counter painkiller he can get in Mexico could be very useful for future trips. So, that is the story of how I crossed the border with drugs and a white powder that looked like drugs.)