One Photo, One Story: Duty free and Uncle Sam

“You’re only allowed 1-liter per person”.  They kept repeating it over and over. It was presented as Law. If you tried to get on an airplane to the United States with over 1 liter, you’d be thrown into Kilmainham Goal, shot at dawn in the courtyard.

It's a tradition now. Before boarding a flight home from Dublin or Shannon Airport, I buy the biggest bottle of Jameson I could find.

The 4 1/2 liter bottle comes with a little cradle and swing, and it’s packed in a two-foot high, eight-inch wide box.

I walk boldly, eyes on me—a six-foot-four-inch man carrying a giant bottle of Jameson like a baby. Men smile and nod. Some wonder, others whisper, “Where can I get one for myself ?”

An occasional scowl comes across the face of a whiskey widow who, knows deep down, their husbands would try to drink the whole bash by the time we fly over Nova Scotia.

There is the group of golfing buddies who let out a collective “Ah!” as you saunter by.

It makes my fellow travelers jealous, they know I have a secret they haven’t discovered yet. It makes them crazy. So they watch me walk by in wonder. “There goes a man who likes his Jameson, The Bastard.

We arrived three hours early for our flight from Dublin to Philadelphia. My heart was set on walking my giant bottle of Jameson. The Duty-Free Shop has been expanded with new displays and rows of Irish gin, vodka, and whiskey. Large shelves of world-leading whiskies, Johnnie Walker, Jim Beam, Jack Daniels, Crown Royal and Ballantine Scotch.  Any libation you fancy is at your fingertips. Only to be enjoyed when you get back home.

We sampled a few shots from the distillers who wanted our business. I wanted my giant bottle of Jameson.

We could not find what we were searching for. Finally, I whispered to my wife, Kelly, “Let’s ask.” Amongst the chaos of the many shoppers, we found the man himself, the clerk of all knowledge. In my New Jersey accent, I asked, “How you doin’”? Do you have any of those big bottles of Jameson? 4 1/2 liters, it comes in a box?” I looked at him confidently, He knew that I knew the secret.

I held my gaze as he thought through my question. “Hmm, I’d have to take a wee look in the back, We don’t keep them out on the floor, you see.”

As he turned to search the back storage room, I added, “I’ll take two.”  Kelly looked at me and repeated “Two?”

“Yeah, Two,” Says I, “Let’s go crazy.”

As we waited for our man to return with our whiskey. The staff began to murmur and stir about. They were saying, “Only one liter per person.” It went around the shop like wildfire. People began to look at us as if we were psychos. Questioning, “Don’t they know it’s only one-liter person?” They all looked at each other, and I knew what they were saying. “They must be gods.”

At the counter, the manager scolded us a bit, “You know you can only carry one liter per person? It's the law, you know. You’ll never get through customs. That’ll be 128 euros each, the total 256 euros”.

I handed him my credit card. He repeated, “You know it’s one liter per person”.

I put up my hand and said, “It’s ok, though, you already have my money.”

They wrapped our two large bottles of whiskey in clear wrappers. I carried one, Kelly the other.

As we walked out I could hear. “Don't they know you could only carry one liter of whiskey each?” We kept going.

When we left duty-free, the time was 11:40 am. We still had two hours until our flight was leaving for home. Still plenty of time to clear customs and walk down to the gate.

The customs kiosk was unusually calm and quick. We got right up to the window. A man who resembled a Boy Scout leader greeted us warmly. He asked about our vacations, if we had fun, and where we lived. “New Jersey.” We shot back. “Ok, Do you have anything to declare?” He asked.

We showed him our two bags from the duty-free. His smile faded as he said, “You know you’re only allowed one-liter person?”  He typed furiously into a computer. Whispering to himself, “4 1/2 liters plus 4 1/2 liters, that’s NINE LITERS”. He stamped our passports and sternly ordered us to “Stand over there.” We were separated from the other passengers traveling to the United States.

We were wondering what would become of us. A stern-looking lady came bursting through some steel doors. She marched up to us, demanding our passports. She barked, “Follow Me”. Through the steel doors, we went. We entered a room that had no windows. There were rows of cashier booths, glass partitions, holding cells, and people being interviewed at desks spread out around the room.

“Sit”. She barked. So we sat. She grabbed our two super-sized bottles of Jameson, clutching our passports she disappeared.

We sat and waited. The sign on the wall was inscribed, “Department Of Homeland Security. Welcome to the United States of America”.

I whispered to Kelly, “Feds.” Perhaps they think we’re whiskey smugglers, bootleggers, or moonshiners. I asked Kelly if her passport was clean. I think it made her nervous.

We waited some more. We could hear agents talking with people.

“Why did you come here if you didn’t have a place to stay?”

“So, you don't have the means to take care of yourself?”

“Who do you know in Kansas?”

One voice explained, “We’ve had guns, diesel fuel, tobacco, drugs, and a guy with a pigeon shoved down his pants.”

This office has seen some really serious stuff over the years. Human trafficking, lost children, sick people, dead people, and other unimaginable things. We were here for nine liters of whiskey, which I paid for. We were more nervous the longer we waited, It felt like central booking in Manhattan.

After an hour, I said to Kelly, “We’re going to miss our flight.” She stood and went over to the window and asked nicely. “How long do you think…….? She was interrupted sternly by the agent. “I didn’t call your name yet, Sit Down!”

She squirmed back to the chair. An agent in the back asked someone, “Why do you have five bullets in your pocket?”

Finally, a call over the speaker, “Kelly and Mark, come to window two.”

As we walked toward her, she asked, “You know you can only carry one liter duty-free each?”

“Yes we know”, we both answered.

She looked at us. Said, “That will be $19.95.”

I handed her my credit card. She returned our passports and whiskey and said, “Have a safe flight, exit through those doors please”.

We had to scurry to our gate. I carried my whiskey so everyone could see it, and they nodded. Men looked on with admiration.