When Dealing With the “Gummint” it May Not Matter What You Say

A couple of our friends have had some odd experiences recently with government officials–the upshot of which says: It may not be what you say that gets you in trouble.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent:

Esther was coming back to Quartzsite, after being out of the area for training. On Highway 95 she hit the checkpoint just south of Stone Cabin, and of course, was stopped by Border Patrol agents. On being asked if there was anything in her car of which they should be aware, dear Esther made the classic mistake: Refering to the soft drink sitting next to her she said, “Not unless you mean my Coke!”

No sooner than the words had passed her lips, the car was off to the side, being systematically dismantled by gummint agents. It was sometime later in the search of her vehicle that the boys from the Border Patrol found her own government ID card–she’s employed by a state agency. This was apparently enough to assure them that the Coke was really the kind you drink, not snort. 

It reminds us of the woman at the Los Algadones/US border crossing. Asked what she was bringing back from Mexico, she innocently enough said, “Just my drugs.” Obviously not everybody thinks of “drugs” as prescription medication–she was soon in the back room getting shaken down for contraband. 

But none of this measures up with the innocence of our friend Leroy Brown. Leroy had spent an invigorating day in a dental chair, and wasn’t feeling up to par. Handing over his passport, Leroy was stunned when he suddenly found himself equipped with a new set of handcuffs, whisked to a back room, pushed up against a wall, and summarily frisked. 

It seems another “Leroy Brown” was a thoroughly wanted man. When our Leroy’s name came up on the computer, the Men from Uncle had to shake him down–and up–to ensure that BAD BAD Leroy Brown was not their current guest. When Leroy explained he’d be coming back the following day for more dental work, the federales told him he could expect a similar reception. Happily, the same agents were on shift the next day, and Leroy got off easy. 

So what’s the upshot? First, weigh those words before you roll them off your tongue. Evidently in this age of terrorist activity, federal agents have lost any sort of sense of humor they may have once possessed. And if your name is Leroy Brown, allow extra time at the border.