THE CUSTOMS LOUNGE
BY E. A. PROULX
Anything can happen in the
customs lounge—since they
let those Earth people in!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
There were usually a few Customs Inspectors in the lounge, waiting to begin their shifts, hanging around trading news and incidents and drinking the bad, lukewarm kasser that was a standing joke in the Immigration-Customs Service.
Old Grag was telling for perhaps the eightieth time of a success of his when he was young in the Service.
"... They had this small box of sticky, squashy sweets with them. The young one was eating one. Many another Inspector would have passed them through, but I thought the young one chewed too much and too loud. So I said, 'Mind if I have one?'
"'Wah!' says they together, 'it would set you on edge, Noble Wise Inspector. It is the taste of another world.' They was Venusers, and they started shifting and hopping around, and humming their national anthem, you know how they used to do back in the old days. I made quite a nice little find. Almost a half-scree of chamfer in each one of those sweets. I got a promotion out of that, and the Venusers got a six-year close out."