I found a ghostly sitzmark on my back window yesterday morning. ‘never a good sign when a bird so clearly misjudges the flyway – I only hope it’s one of the many pigeons that are waking up earlier and earlier with each dawn.
On my way through Schiphol this morning, I stopped to pick up a bottle of single-malt scotch from the duty-free shop. As I turned around with the bottle, I found myself face to face with a stern, uniformed customs agent.
“Papers?”, he inquired. I gave him my passport and residency card.
“Spreekt u Nederlands?” Inevitable. Best to not try my Level 2 Dutch in this situation. Een beetje.
“May I exchange the bottle?” I’m confused.
Ho pointed to the scotch. “Your bottle.”
He fingered through the rest of the stock, picking one from the third row. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he smiled, handing me the new selection.
I wanted to ask if there was a further discount for this, but wisely decided to scoot for the plane before this advanced to the contents of my See-Buy-Fly bag.
They are a bit touchy at Schiphol these days…and I don’t want to end up like the pigeon, with only a ghostly trace left to tell the tale.