Feh. Of all cities to come into on my way back to Paris, it has to be Cincinnati. Not that there’s anything wrong with Cincinnati. It’s just not as romantic as say…New York, or DC, or San Francisco.
Another stellar meal from Delta, complete with ridiculous menu card and riddled with enough Eats-Shoots-&-Leaves typos, grammatical and stylistic errors to make copy editor wunderkind Colleen insane. There’s no sense in taunting them any further. If you can’t say something nice… I should follow Mom’s dictum (“…don’t say anything at all”) and not Alice Roosevelt’s (“…come sit next to me").
It’s always interesting coming back through U.S. customs. People speak to me really loudly or really slowly. When I answer in unaccented English, they look befuddled. Hey, I realize I look different, but the perfectly Caucasian woman in front of me is the one who can’t comprehend a word you’re telling her. And if she does, she’s pretending she doesn’t because she’s French. And the name on my passport – both my and Hubby’s surnames, is enough to induce momentary loss of speech. I love it.
The customs agent in Cincinnati noted my very truthful customs card and said, “That’s all you spent?”
“I don’t like clothes.”
“Well that’s good. Only one bottle is free but never mind.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wine. Only one bottle is free. But you’re good to go.”
I was so stunned by this comment I called Hubby on the way home to the Culinary Hinterland. “Hubby! They said only one bottle is free but we have to pay for the rest.”
He paused. “One bottle? ONE? Like, after zero and before two?”
“Yes.”
“From France only or all countries?”
“I dunno.”
“Well why the !@#$%^& are you going to France for if not to bring back wine?!”
So being the efficient little geeklet that I am, I went and checked this out. And sure enough, even though the government raised the limit to $800 as a total value of what can be brought into the U.S. without being taxed, Customs permits only one liter of alcoholic beverages to be brought into the country.
Of course, it’s up to the customs agent to determine how strict to get with you, but it appears they might be in agreement with me that such rule is completement et absolument stupide! cuz the guy let me through. Or maybe he took pity on me because he thought I was an imbecile for writing down how many bottles I was bringing back with me!
Hubby and sister (Hustler of Culture) would avow it was Asian Booty Factor in play, but I was in jeans that were falling off me, a SupraMax nylon hoodie that did nothing to indicate I had a figure much less flatter one, hair going in ten thousand directions and no makeup. Oh yeah, I was also coughing like I have consumption and plan to die in a Paris attic surrounded by singing friends and my nose is bright red from blowing during the whole flight so I think I was evincing more Asian Flu than Asian Booty.
But let’s say he was going to be a Swinging Richard. Well, in that case, he could have charged me 3% of the total value of goods for the first $1000 over the $800 limit (which I hadn’t hit) or he could tax me on each item as he saw fit.
Now get this: you can bring in 200 cigarettes or 100 cigars and pollute my air but you can’t bring in more than a bottle of wine (which are usually 750 mL) or other alcohol. Does this seem Draconian and ridiculous to you, too?
The mind staggers. Or it would if I brought back a case and drank 11 bottles on the plane to avoid customs duties. Actually, given the food and entertainment on most airlines now, that might not be a bad idea…
I must find an Transcontinental Underground Railroad for wine. All this time I’ve been complaining about living in the Buckle of the Bible Belt and not being able to have wine shipped here. Who knew my beautiful country has a Customs Office that forgot the 18th Amendment was repealed.
One bottle? Can I say that again in total shock? ONE BOTTLE.
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