I’m writing this from Vienna International Airport, somewhere between delirium and blind rage, trying not to chuck my flip phone across the arrivals lounge while listening to some Austrian guy argue with his wife and kids about hotel accommodations.
Let me paint you the scene: I got off my U.S. flight into Montreal thinking I was on the home stretch. Just a quick 8-hour hop to Vienna, meet Mussayev, get the story, and bask in the warm glow of a self-congratulatory espresso. But no. Customs happened.
They flagged me for a “random search,” which—judging by my sweaty “I’m definitely not smuggling secrets” look—was inevitable. They tore through my bag like I was hiding the fucking Arc of the Covenant in a pair of hiking boots. And what do they seize? My medical cannabis oil cartridge.
This post has been syndicated from Closer to the Edge, where it was published under this address.