Dutch Department of Drugs and Dildos
I have been ricocheting around Europe like a pingpong ball in a clothes dryer lately. Because of this I have, I must confess, slowly been becoming jaded toward the joy of travel. It therefore felt like a normal week when the Swiss client involved with our current project decided to conduct a change when they actually had no staff available at all and my boss and I were forced to depart rapidly for Zurich and Geneva respectively.
To cut a long story short, I found myself being searched in a security check on my return trip through Geneva airport. Something mysterious was setting off their metal detectors and, on discovering that this was actually a shiny metallic condom* package, the customs official quickly averted both his gaze and his suspicions. This was a damned good thing since I quickly noticed I was also holding in plain sight a not inconsequential bag of hash which I'd somehow inadvertently smuggled over from Holland in my back pocket.
My boss also had a dodgy trip. Burned out and back at his hotel room, he decided to have a quickie from the mini-bar. He gave up when he discovered that some shrewd bastard had consumed most of the spirits and replaced them with water and tea. About to collapse into his bed, his foot bumped into something just underneath. To what must have been his unimaginable horror, he then came face to phallus with what my colleague gleefully told me was a fifteen inch rubber cock, presumably left there by the previous occupant and was not (I hope at least) a liberal minded yet presumptuous gesture by the hotel staff.
I somehow lost the hash on the return flight and, somewhat sensibly I might add, my boss did not elect to return with said rubber knobbler.
I am no longer jaded.
* No, I didn't carry it on the off-chance of a little aerial nookie with a steward, I had it because I'd picked it up the day before. It was free. And shiny. I still covet it, and may yet fashion some fetching party balloons from the enclosed prophylactics.
To cut a long story short, I found myself being searched in a security check on my return trip through Geneva airport. Something mysterious was setting off their metal detectors and, on discovering that this was actually a shiny metallic condom* package, the customs official quickly averted both his gaze and his suspicions. This was a damned good thing since I quickly noticed I was also holding in plain sight a not inconsequential bag of hash which I'd somehow inadvertently smuggled over from Holland in my back pocket.
My boss also had a dodgy trip. Burned out and back at his hotel room, he decided to have a quickie from the mini-bar. He gave up when he discovered that some shrewd bastard had consumed most of the spirits and replaced them with water and tea. About to collapse into his bed, his foot bumped into something just underneath. To what must have been his unimaginable horror, he then came face to phallus with what my colleague gleefully told me was a fifteen inch rubber cock, presumably left there by the previous occupant and was not (I hope at least) a liberal minded yet presumptuous gesture by the hotel staff.
I somehow lost the hash on the return flight and, somewhat sensibly I might add, my boss did not elect to return with said rubber knobbler.
I am no longer jaded.
* No, I didn't carry it on the off-chance of a little aerial nookie with a steward, I had it because I'd picked it up the day before. It was free. And shiny. I still covet it, and may yet fashion some fetching party balloons from the enclosed prophylactics.