From the Archives: Arms Smuggling

There comes a time in a young man's life in which his instinctual need for migration comes to a head. The need for adventure is too great for me to ignore for long: I live off of movement. And bacon, but that's besides the point.

It's a fine line I walk.

When I was 15, I began a grand adventure. My high school had arranged a France trip, to occur during February vacation (for those not living in MA, a week in February is taken off of school, likely originating from that time being the most likely for flu outbreaks).

We flew directly from Logan International Airport in Boston to Paris, France, where I immediately saw a sign that said "surrenderez-vous." I'm not kidding. And this was in the time of "freedom fries, fuck yeah!" Of COURSE you'll be surrendering to some pimply 15 year old.

Now, during this trip into an ancient land, we went to a city called Mont Saint-Michel. Long story short, a bunch of monks saw a big rock a few hundred meters off the shore, and when the tide went out, walked over to it and build a monastery. This was because France is France, and while their vow of poverty didn't permit them to escape the nation of a thousand smells via ship, no one said they couldn't simply walk the fuck away.

Sadly for the monks, every other nearby French person also wanted to get the fuck away. So, slowly but surely, the giant random rock with a church on top became a giant random rock, property of France.

The monastery became a town. The town became a castle. And the castle still stands as is very cool to visit.

So, visit we did.

And naturally, the place had become tourist-ized to hell. "We're a castle. What do people want... bread? Food? Actual culture? FUCK NO, get me some swords n' shit!"

And so, we come to the next phase of a young boy's life: Weapon Fascination.

I was so easily allured by all the shininess. And so, I bought a *few* things.

"Yaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy"

And, naturally, every single one of my classmates also on the trip got a bunch of swords. Honestly, we could've started the next Crusade just for shits-n-giggles.

After spending a great deal of money adding weight to my airline luggage, it was time to break the law by transporting undeclared weapons into post 9/11 America  go home.

Now, in the airport in Paris, there was a small desk set up where an American official asked us, oh, just a few questions. One in particular stuck out to me.

Something must have tipped them off, because on the back of my passport I had an orange sticker. Everyone else had a white sticker on theirs.

So naturally, I was concerned.

So we went through, hopped on the plane, and went back to the states. And of course, we had to go through customs.

I went through as the TSA serial rapist inspector took my passport and directly looked at the back for the sticker that would determine my fate.

And it was in that moment, when I felt my first heart attack coming to whisk me to the underworld, where I became really thankful of TSA educational requirements.

I'd apply there if the coworkers wouldn't melt my brains.

And so I walked probably the fastest I ever have through the door and onto the bus to take us back to school and to home.

All in marvelous liberty-loving contempt of federal and Massachusetts state weapons laws.

God Bless America.

Have you ever been on an international trip? Tell me about it in the comments. Be sure to like and share this on Facebook like the attention-seeking whore you are.