How to unexpectedly delight a no-nonsense customs agent (and anyone else doing a job)

I stood in a long line, slowly moving forward at the distant sound of “Next.” Around my shoulder was a travel bag, full of used clothes, postcards, and gift shop knickknacks. In my pocket, I firmly grasped a list I’d crafted the night before and would need to reveal in a few moments. I hadn’t done this before. I was nervous.

It was last fall, and my wife and I had just arrived home at Raleigh-Durham International Airport from an anniversary trip to Italy. We had a marvelous time and had been endlessly gushing over the memories we’d made in the past week. But for a few moments, all that was put aside. I had to get serious. We had entered the line for U.S. Customs, and soon I’d be reviewing what I’d brought back into the country.

Stuff I hoped was allowed in the country

Why was I nervous? I was almost certain I wasn’t bringing anything illegal back into the country. Almost. I needed to double-check.

I withdrew the list from my pocket. On it, I’d written down everything we’d purchased in Italy that we hadn’t already eaten or drank. I wrote down how much I paid for it in euros or if I didn’t pay for it, what I perceived its value to be.

Plates, €84. Those shouldn’t be a problem. But we dropped €84 on plates? Yes that’s right, because they had pieces of wheat molded into them. Tuscan wheat. There’s no price you can put on that. Well, I guess you can put €84 on that. (They were actually pretty cool plates.)

Ball. Jersey. Painting. Fine, fine, fine.

Gladiator helmet. Oh crap, that’s definitely a weapon. I saw Maximus club some guy with his in the movie. Wait…nope…just a helmet figurine we got in the Colosseum gift shop. Wouldn’t fit on a gerbil’s head. We're OK.

Chestnuts. AKA castagnes. We were there during the chestnut harvest and a friendly guy at the bike rental shop gave us a whole bag of them to take home. That was exciting until I thought about the fact they were nuts. Not that nuts are banned in the U.S., but with all our country’s nut allergies and the problems they cause people, I thought surely I’d be interrogated.

“Mr. Speight, do you realize what’s in these nuts?”

“Uh, nut stuff?”

“You're dang right they have nut stuff, don’t you know these can kill people?!”

Olive oil. Of course, we had to bring back olive oil. That's fine, right? Hmm. It is flammable. Would they profile me as the type who'd rather burn stuff than cook stuff? Like, I know I'm just going to put in on my noodles, but would they suspect I'd use it for a Molotov cocktail? Probably. How would I explain this?

"I swear Mr. Officer. Alls I plan to do is dip bread in it."

"Yeah, I've heard that story before. It starts with a little bread and ends in a massive conflagration! We'll be trying you for arson in six months, son. Won't we? Won't we?!"

And then there's the whole liters thing to worry about. I can bring a liter of alcohol back into the country and so can my wife. But how much is a liter anyway? Who brings a liter of wine to anything? I don't even measure in liters in my country. If I go over, how much is it going to cost me? What the heck is a duty? I don't ever pay those either.

Approaching my impending doom in customs

We were getting closer. I looked up and noticed a couple having a conversation with a seemingly displeased agent. I wondered what the problem was, if they were ill-prepared for this moment or really up to something illegal. Maybe this guy didn't declare his olive oil. After another minute, the couple was escorted to another area and sat down. It wasn't good for me to see. I was pretty certain I was in for it and was now summoning my courage to be manhandled publicly. This wouldn't be pretty, but I couldn't run now.

I observed the agent in my line who was looking at passports and seeing people through. She looked like an airport employee doing a job. Maybe she was having a rough day or maybe appearing very serious came with the job. Either way, we were no longer in grins-and-giggles territory.

"Next," she said, cold and monotone. We were up. This was the moment.

When I got to the desk, we showed her our passports. She checked them, unamused, then looked up at me and asked, "Do you have anything to declare that you've purchased and brought in from another country?"

Let your "yes" be "yes" and your "no" be "no." "Yes," I said, and pulled out my list and handed it to her.

She looked at it for half a second and grinned widely, then laughed. Oh no. I'd done it all wrong. I'd need to make a new list. I bought too much stuff. Fresh Tuscan chestnuts are outlawed in the United States of America! Go ahead and cuff me, madam, I deserve your merciless wrath!

Before I could ask what was up, she told me. "No one ever writes a list like this, like they're supposed to. Thank you. Just go ahead, you're good." She continued to smile and handed me back my list.

No confusing conversation about liters and duties. No confiscation of precious Florentine keepsakes. No chestnut chastisement. No serious review of my list at all.

Now I wasn't thinking about the list anymore. But, that I unintentionally got this agent to smile. Why did that happen?

People doing a job want to be seen for their job

As I reflected, my whole life and shaping of my personality had prepared me for this moment. You see, I’m a rule follower. I’m uncomfortable with breaking rules and especially uncomfortable when others know I’m breaking rules! I’m also afraid of getting into trouble. I despise fines and will endeavor to never ever go to jail. These are high aspirations, right?

So, making sure I did the right thing to reenter my country was important to me. I spent time trying to understand the rules and prepared to do the right thing.

My interaction with the customs agent revealed that many people don’t care to understand the rules and prepare to do the right thing. They either don’t care or are content to wing it. No judgment here, but I’m recognizing why the agent cares. It’s because they believe what they do is important. They do what they do to keep our country safe, enforce the law, and ensure fairness and equity for all bringing goods back into our country. Even if others value that, when they don’t show they value it, it frustrates the agent.

This is true for anyone doing a decent job. They want to know they’re not wasting their time, that they’re performing a service for society. This is affirmed when they’re appreciated. Whether they’re selling a bond or blowing up a balloon, they’re doing something for the world. For you.

A simple way to love our neighbor is to let them know we value the job they're doing. They could be in our office, in our grocery store, or delivering a box to our door. Sometimes it's words of appreciation that go a long way. Other times our actions, like being prepared in a way that helps them complete their task for you, equally matters.

Take the challenge of showing a worker you appreciate them. It could make their day (and yours).