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By Caitlin cherry*
First person – I obey the speed limit, I always indicate, I pick up bicycles that fall and if they charge me less in a store I let them know, but they still accuse me of being a drug mule.
Caitlin Cherry (left) with her niece Sophie in Vancouver.
Photo: Caitlin cherry
Once when I was taking my niece to visit family in Melbourne, a beagle jumped on my tote bag and it scared the hell out of me. It turned out that the beagle could only smell fruit residue (of course she wasn’t carrying any), so now I wash all my bags before I travel, just in case.
About five years ago I went with a friend to Europe for three weeks. My flight home from London had a layover in Vancouver, so I stayed for two nights to visit another niece who lived there. We had a fantastic couple of days eating too many maple syrup pancakes and watching tattooed hipsters with man buns talk about going to craft beer festivals. Then I took my 14 hour Air NZ flight to Auckland.
My seat was right in the back row, in the middle, next to two big motorcyclists who kept laughing at me when mishaps happened. My screen kept stopping and had to be readjusted by the impatient flight attendant, who ended up gesticulating so much that he hit my face, scratching my cheek with his fingernail.
As we approached Auckland around 5am, I had a couple of weak instant coffees before getting off the plane to collect my luggage. At the time, the cafe was doing its job and she needed to use the bathroom. I pulled my suitcase off the conveyor belt, went to the bathroom, and then headed for the customs queue.
A cute black dog ran up to me, sniffed my butt, and then sat next to me. I went to pat it and then it hit me, oh no don’t do that then oh shit so oh wait it will be a fruit dog, we’ve done it before! But did she smell my ass?
The grim-faced customs officer stood a foot from me “Do you know why the dog smelled you?”
I leaned forward and whispered, “Is it because I just pooped? I recently had some fruit.”
The man looked at me coldly, “This is not a fruit dog, it is a drug dog.”
The world became unstable. The two guys from the moto-cross walked by, laughing to themselves.
ME: But I haven’t taken any drugs!
MAN: So you’re hiding drugs.
Me what? I don’t even take drugs. (I am physically shaking at this point and almost cry).
MAN: Well my dog smelled drugs, so either you took them or you hid them.
ME (desperately trying to make sense of this): Well … I come from Vancouver, where cannabis is legal, could I have sat on something on the train to the airport?
Man no.
ME: But it has to be something because I haven’t taken any drugs and would never take them!
MAN: Either you have taken drugs or you are hiding them.
ME: This doesn’t make sense, this doesn’t make sense.
MAN: Look, I don’t care if you’ve taken drugs ok, I only care if you’re hiding drugs, are you hiding drugs?
ME: NO!
ME: So you have taken drugs?
ME: (confused) Do you want me to tell you that I was high?
MAN: Only if it’s true.
ME: It’s not, I don’t even like drugs, I’m very nervous! I can only have one coffee a day.
MAN: Well, he’s either taken drugs or he’s hiding them.
ME: Your dog must be wrong!
MAN: The dog is never wrong.
ME: (realizing I’m in a vortex) But I haven’t done anything.
MAN: The dog is never wrong.
I thought in hindsight: the dog hadn’t smelled my suitcase, so no one had put drugs in it, he sniffed my butt, and there was no way someone would have put drugs in my butt without my knowing it, therefore, It could be proven that I am innocent! It wasn’t going to be the new Schapelle Corby!
ME: Look, I don’t want to miss my flight to Wellington, I haven’t seen my kids in three weeks. If you’re going to find me, can we get it over with? (I’m imagining the click of the latex gloves.)
MAN: (looks confused)
ME: Can we do this search, because I don’t have much time?
MAN: Oh, just go.
Me what?
MAN: (sighs) Just go !!
I rush to the long line of customs: everyone on the plane looks at me, the drug mule.
The motorcyclists laugh out loud and leave me in front of them in line.
Naturally, I was seized with fear every time I traveled abroad from then on, to the point of photographing the contents of my suitcase at the airport before checking in. But I’ve never been arrested since.
I’ll never know why that dog smelled me. Had someone thrown some drugs in the bathroom before I used them? Had some hipster cafe in Vancouver put cannabis in my kale salad without my knowledge? Who knows?
* Caitlin Cherry is the Chief Content Officer for RNZ National
