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There are a lot of things you do in life accidentally. Stepping on a toothpick lodged in the carpet. Walking into a knee-high concrete post leaving book club. Hitting yourself in the face with a hammer while installing shelving.
But arms dealer?
You'd think that would require some forethought. A conscious decision to embark upon that particular path. Connections, or a family history. Something!
But no.
It all started when my father decided he wanted to take up archery. Could he have decided this in any of the 50+ years of living in the good old US with a hunting/fishing store on every corner? Of course not! That would have been easy - better to wait until you're on a little island where bows are semi-legal and difficult to get. And ask your daughter to send you one.
But that's not a big deal, right?
Wrong. Do you know how long it takes to buy a bow and related supplies and have it set up? Two and a half hours. Do you know how long it takes to carefully pack up all of the supplies and cut down boxes to shave off weight? Three hours.
But that was the hard part, right?
Oh, wrong again. I'm not saying that was easy, but it wasn't the hard part. And let me assure you, before I go on, that I am an old hat at mailing things at the post office. I send a lot of boxes. I (mostly, usually) know what I'm doing.
But this was different.
I got to the post office and started by spending half an hour filing out customs forms. Only to head up to the clerk and plop the bow case on the counter and be told that was the wrong form, the case was too big. The other six were okay...
...but he was going to lunch in 5 minutes, someone else would need to help me.
Fine, we start working our way through the other six boxes while I fill out different forms. Finally, we get to the bow. It falls under the combined length/girth limit of 108 inches for mailing packages - I told you I was good at this, I checked!
But Fiji is different.
Their limit is 79 inches. The bow case was 89 inches. No way to squeak it in. At this point I've become exasperated, and flail wildly. There has to be *some* way to send this thing. Even with size limits for most packages, I mean, cars get sent to places, certainly this is doable. And, yes, yes it is, it just costs more money and it has to be sent Global Express.
But you need to fill out a different form for that.
Of course you do. And so I do. At which point I am shuffled to another postal clerk, and he starts processing the bow. Turns out, because of its enormous size, it gets calculated on an assumed weight, instead of its actual weight, and the actual cost to ship it is $500. Yes, you read that right. $500. I stare blankly and incomprehensibly for a moment, and ask if he knows of any other way. FedEx was mentioned, and even though I was pretty sure they'd be more, I called (thankfully there was no line at the post office, so I could just stand there and do this) and they estimated $1,100. O-kay, post office it is (the interesting thing is because it's Global Express, FedEx is the one who ships it anyway...).
But what's in the box, he asks cautiously.
A bow, I say. He pauses. As in...? he queries. As in archery, I say, while making the internationally recognized "air bow" motion. I have now been in the post office for over an hour, it's hot, and I am cranky.
But that's arms, I'm not sure we can send that, he says.
It's a bow, I say. Not a freakin' nuclear missile, I want to say but don't. Sarcasm will not help my cause, but a little slips out. It's unloaded, I say. And despite it being a somewhat flippant, sarcastic remark, it does bring up the point that there aren't any arrows in the case. And I mention that the other clerk shipped the arrows (not even disguised as anything) already. He starts the paperwork again.
But he still keeps checking things with a worried look on his face.
I'm holding my breath... every time he starts to punch things in he stops and checks another list, and keeps consulting things. It's taking for ever, and I'm still not entirely sure he's going to let it through. Eventually, eventually, it's all done and I finally get to leave the post office and just hope it makes it to its destination. Which, I will tell you, it did, though not without considerable drama on that end. That's another story, though, and someone else's to boot. It was a grueling process...
...but hey, it's an interesting experience to be accused of sending "arms" to a foreign country.
Thank goodness I didn't try to send a marshmallow shooter, that thing has a magazine that will hold at least 30 rounds...
But arms dealer?
You'd think that would require some forethought. A conscious decision to embark upon that particular path. Connections, or a family history. Something!
But no.
It all started when my father decided he wanted to take up archery. Could he have decided this in any of the 50+ years of living in the good old US with a hunting/fishing store on every corner? Of course not! That would have been easy - better to wait until you're on a little island where bows are semi-legal and difficult to get. And ask your daughter to send you one.
But that's not a big deal, right?
Wrong. Do you know how long it takes to buy a bow and related supplies and have it set up? Two and a half hours. Do you know how long it takes to carefully pack up all of the supplies and cut down boxes to shave off weight? Three hours.
But that was the hard part, right?
Oh, wrong again. I'm not saying that was easy, but it wasn't the hard part. And let me assure you, before I go on, that I am an old hat at mailing things at the post office. I send a lot of boxes. I (mostly, usually) know what I'm doing.
But this was different.
I got to the post office and started by spending half an hour filing out customs forms. Only to head up to the clerk and plop the bow case on the counter and be told that was the wrong form, the case was too big. The other six were okay...
...but he was going to lunch in 5 minutes, someone else would need to help me.
Fine, we start working our way through the other six boxes while I fill out different forms. Finally, we get to the bow. It falls under the combined length/girth limit of 108 inches for mailing packages - I told you I was good at this, I checked!
But Fiji is different.
Their limit is 79 inches. The bow case was 89 inches. No way to squeak it in. At this point I've become exasperated, and flail wildly. There has to be *some* way to send this thing. Even with size limits for most packages, I mean, cars get sent to places, certainly this is doable. And, yes, yes it is, it just costs more money and it has to be sent Global Express.
But you need to fill out a different form for that.
Of course you do. And so I do. At which point I am shuffled to another postal clerk, and he starts processing the bow. Turns out, because of its enormous size, it gets calculated on an assumed weight, instead of its actual weight, and the actual cost to ship it is $500. Yes, you read that right. $500. I stare blankly and incomprehensibly for a moment, and ask if he knows of any other way. FedEx was mentioned, and even though I was pretty sure they'd be more, I called (thankfully there was no line at the post office, so I could just stand there and do this) and they estimated $1,100. O-kay, post office it is (the interesting thing is because it's Global Express, FedEx is the one who ships it anyway...).
But what's in the box, he asks cautiously.
A bow, I say. He pauses. As in...? he queries. As in archery, I say, while making the internationally recognized "air bow" motion. I have now been in the post office for over an hour, it's hot, and I am cranky.
But that's arms, I'm not sure we can send that, he says.
It's a bow, I say. Not a freakin' nuclear missile, I want to say but don't. Sarcasm will not help my cause, but a little slips out. It's unloaded, I say. And despite it being a somewhat flippant, sarcastic remark, it does bring up the point that there aren't any arrows in the case. And I mention that the other clerk shipped the arrows (not even disguised as anything) already. He starts the paperwork again.
But he still keeps checking things with a worried look on his face.
I'm holding my breath... every time he starts to punch things in he stops and checks another list, and keeps consulting things. It's taking for ever, and I'm still not entirely sure he's going to let it through. Eventually, eventually, it's all done and I finally get to leave the post office and just hope it makes it to its destination. Which, I will tell you, it did, though not without considerable drama on that end. That's another story, though, and someone else's to boot. It was a grueling process...
...but hey, it's an interesting experience to be accused of sending "arms" to a foreign country.
Thank goodness I didn't try to send a marshmallow shooter, that thing has a magazine that will hold at least 30 rounds...