The Chilean Inquisition (Jason's version of the event)

FREEEEDDDDOOOOMMMM!!!

Holy he'll, today we had our first " legal" crossing into another country. To reach our goal of end-of-the-world first we had to cross through Chile.  As you all now beths plight with vegetarianism has been frought with difficulties.  So, we've begin packing lunches on long bus rides so as not to starve her as a result of the bus industry being in bed with the meat industry and supplying only meat for meals.  This led to the following exchange at the border of Chile, while filling out the claim form, which stated, in no uncertain terms, "it's expressly forbidden to bring any fruit or animal products into Chile":

Jason: "Are you checking no to having fruit?"
Beth: "Of course."
J: "I think there are huge fines associated with smuggling them into a country."
Beth, the rebel: "No. They just say that.  It'll be fine."

At which point she coerced me to check no on my form as well, which I hesitantly did, though thinking to myself: "salami, I'm glad Beth told me not to claim you, because I'm gonna eat you later.". 

Oh, whatwickedwebswomanweave.  

After a three hour delay at the border crossing, which saw one couple dragged off the bus in some Pinochetesque theatrics, we finally got called to duty (duty being to stand in line for another twenty minutes to get stamped into Chile).  I brought along my sheet of lies, only for the Chilean border patrol to wave it aside as unnecessary.  I breathed my sigh of relief (and, yes, my stomach gurgled it's own sigh of relief, or perhaps approval) and headed back to the bus.

The bus attendant signed my sheet and I got back on.  Relief is a funny thing; it quickly transforms into curse words, then worry and eventually all blood seeping from your face, presumably directly to your heart, which is then pounding.  For no less did I climb that last stair and see none other than Mr. Chilean Customs Agent standing guard at my seat.  And relief began it's ugly transformation. 

Be Cool. Cool as that godforsaken cucumber in my bag of contabando (alright, there was no cucumber, and I didn't say that, I told myself to lie, tell them--or rather have Beth tell them for me--I have a mental disability, or I don't speak english, as the instructions were also in english, anything really would suffice).  So, I walked back and faced the inquisitor.  I opened our backpack, then grabbed the first plastic bag and finally i grabbed the devil herself and let him look through the damn thing himself.  I wasn't going to show off my fruits, if he wanted them he'd have to get them...and that he did.   He gestured for me to throw them in the bag, then did his best Dale Vickers impression, looking disapprovingly at me for what seemed like seconds, maybe even more. 

That's when the fun began.  He asked me "how much," in English, which I took to be asking for a bribe.  I'm poor, so played dumb, "for what?"  He then seemed to take that as a "no" and made the appropriate fine threat, 500 of something, perhaps pesos, maybe dollars.  I gave him the big eyes treatment, said "si?" and continued to apologize excessively, seemingly to no avail.

A this point he rattles on in some foreign language for a bit, and I turn to Beth to see if she knows what the hell he is saying.  She doesn't, but my interest is sparked when he puts his hand on my wrist and makes a clicking sound.  After I peed myself I turned and told him I'm sorry, I don't understand, for about the tenth time, and he looks at me, says "lo siento?" in his most condescending voice, and tells me "un momento," walking away as he does so.   

Shit.  

Methodically he searches the rest of the packs on the bus, leaving Beth in a state close to tears and me worrying.  Finding nothing, he disappears and for a moment once again, relief.  Then I see the bus attendent come upstairs followed by the Inquisitor.  Attendent is looking around for someone and then I hear "ultima" which I presume is me, since we once again have been relegated to the back of the bus.  Time slows, curse words flow, though only inwardly and mostly towards those damned nutrient rich things they call veggies and Attendent gets closer.  

Then it happens, the seats closest to us begin to laugh.  The Inquisitor breaks out in a slow, sinister smile and all I hear is the word relief, but not in English, in Spanish, and not the word itself, but rather the word tranquillo.  And then I too break out in s grin, neither slow nor sinister, but full of that beautiful feeling of relief.

The bastard.