Traveling with a Salmon
My parents are throwing us an engagement party in August. Actually, more accurately, my parents and 13 other couples are throwing us an engagement party in August. Families I haven't talked to since I was a little kid are scuttling out from the woodwork to take part in the congratulations. Aside from trying to figure out who's left over to be a guest if 26 people are going to be hosts, I can't really complain.
The part where it does get tricky is that it's customary to give host gifts to anyone helping to sponsor the party. "The host gift should be something around $30 or so per couple," my mother tells me. "Any ideas?"
Bottle of wine? Picture frame? What do you do for these one-size-fits-all sort of gifts? The real problem arose when my mom decided to get creative.
In terms of content, really, the idea was a good one. I'd like a gift like this. "Remember that fresh smoked BC salmon you brought us at Christmas year before last? What if we did that for each couple?" If you've never seen one of these, it's essentially the better part of a small salmon, smoked, sealed in plastic, and packed with several chemical ice packets into a two foot long corrugated cardboard tote box with a carry handle on the top and a picture of a salmon conveniently emblazoned on the side (in case an airline were to otherwise mistake it for a tommygun, I presume).
What I failed to adequately communicate to my mother is that the difference between one salmon on a plane and thirteen salmon on a plane is more than a strictly quantitative one. Let's see: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. The math works out quite nicely. It's still a bit of a pain to carry around because of its length, but no worse than a large umbrella or camera tripod.
But that's about as far as it works out.
Let's see: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. And an official Aquaman utility belt with twelve-salmon capacity. That doesn't really get us past the paperwork, though.
Or: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. And twelve more salmon wielded by a six-man army of angry salmon-bearing midgets, who also, conveniently enough, have earned enough AirMiles for a free flight to Texas, and have filled out individual customs declarations forms for two fish apiece. That's a bit more like it, but my army of angry midgets master plan has not yet worked out.
Perhaps: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. An economy pack of one dozen SuperMaxxx extra large condoms, some salmon-friendly butt lubricant, and a friendly Colombian drug smuggler endowed with a very roomy colon (and, ideally, no severe seafood allergies)? No.
I presume I could get them all packed together into one big box, which I'd then have to check as luggage, but an extra two hour wait in the customs line doesn't sounds like a fun-filled addition to what's already going to be a pretty frantic three day weekend.
Thankfully, the whole salmon idea was finally shelved in favor of the original bottle of wine suggestion or something similar, and since BC wines are not particularly famous in the big scheme of things anyway, I appear to be off the hook for smuggling any gifts into the States, at all.
Good thing, too, because I'm fresh out of salmon-compatible anal lube.
The part where it does get tricky is that it's customary to give host gifts to anyone helping to sponsor the party. "The host gift should be something around $30 or so per couple," my mother tells me. "Any ideas?"
Bottle of wine? Picture frame? What do you do for these one-size-fits-all sort of gifts? The real problem arose when my mom decided to get creative.
In terms of content, really, the idea was a good one. I'd like a gift like this. "Remember that fresh smoked BC salmon you brought us at Christmas year before last? What if we did that for each couple?" If you've never seen one of these, it's essentially the better part of a small salmon, smoked, sealed in plastic, and packed with several chemical ice packets into a two foot long corrugated cardboard tote box with a carry handle on the top and a picture of a salmon conveniently emblazoned on the side (in case an airline were to otherwise mistake it for a tommygun, I presume).
What I failed to adequately communicate to my mother is that the difference between one salmon on a plane and thirteen salmon on a plane is more than a strictly quantitative one. Let's see: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. The math works out quite nicely. It's still a bit of a pain to carry around because of its length, but no worse than a large umbrella or camera tripod.
But that's about as far as it works out.
Let's see: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. And an official Aquaman utility belt with twelve-salmon capacity. That doesn't really get us past the paperwork, though.
Or: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. And twelve more salmon wielded by a six-man army of angry salmon-bearing midgets, who also, conveniently enough, have earned enough AirMiles for a free flight to Texas, and have filled out individual customs declarations forms for two fish apiece. That's a bit more like it, but my army of angry midgets master plan has not yet worked out.
Perhaps: One free hand not busy with a carry-on bag. One salmon. An economy pack of one dozen SuperMaxxx extra large condoms, some salmon-friendly butt lubricant, and a friendly Colombian drug smuggler endowed with a very roomy colon (and, ideally, no severe seafood allergies)? No.
I presume I could get them all packed together into one big box, which I'd then have to check as luggage, but an extra two hour wait in the customs line doesn't sounds like a fun-filled addition to what's already going to be a pretty frantic three day weekend.
Thankfully, the whole salmon idea was finally shelved in favor of the original bottle of wine suggestion or something similar, and since BC wines are not particularly famous in the big scheme of things anyway, I appear to be off the hook for smuggling any gifts into the States, at all.
Good thing, too, because I'm fresh out of salmon-compatible anal lube.