Customs cabaret.
As with most things in life, the first time is always memorable. So it was with our first trip to Amsterdam.

At the time I was really into spliff. When my birthday came around the Mrs and I planned a city-break to stoners mecca. In the build up, i'd thoroughly researched where would have good smoke and how to avoid or dismiss the 'charlie whisperers'.

I made what I suspect is a common error among first-timers to the tokesters paradise. I couldn't resist sampling a bit of this from here and that from there and accumulated more wonderful than we could possibly consume during our short stay.

So came the final night before our early departure. I dared not risk so much as an arrest, what with my being an aspiring executive in a clerical profession. We were also on two flights the next day so double doses of security loomed. There was no chance of sneaking my glut home for later enjoyment.

Being also of the waste-not... persuasion I was determined to consume as much smoky goodness as I could manage. I started with the double bubblegum from grey area, a light cereberal high and worked my way through the handful of little zip-lok bags until the penultimate, a nice hash i'd bought on a whim from the dolphin near leidseplein. It was slightly translucent and formed into long rolls with just the warmth of the hand. I only just managed to finish the first 3skin when the squishy hotel bed and and soft drone of BBC news 24 became too much and I slumped into the delicious slumber of the hopelessly monged.

Thankfully my better half shoved me into the shower in time to leave for our early train to schipol. I was of course still disgracefully mashed. Under her expert guidance I shuffled through check-in and to passport control. The aryan cop seemed to double take at my documents before staring me out and saying something in a heavy accent that was unintelligible to my addled thinkbox. "Sorry?" I asked with my best not-caned-just-tired manner.

He nudged his colleague and showed them my passport pointing at something in it. They both stood up behind the glass. My mind raced with surprising sobriety, desperately trying to remember if I had any contraband in my pockets or bag. Just when I was sure I was in for a shit day of searches and missed flights he raised one hand as some sort of signal and it began.

Happy birthday to you. Happy...

I'd been semi awake for about 3 hours and hadn't realised that today was my birthday and the reason / excuse for the trip.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Wed 11 May 2011, 19:53, Reply)