Many of my friends complain that I mention my scouting career much too often, so naturally, my petty side kicks in and I never shut up about it. This annoys them to no end, and it gives me something to look forward to every time we hang out. However, even though finding a new entertaining or applicable scouting story is never difficult, I’m giving my scouting career a break this month in favor of something a little more intriguing. I’m writing this now only because I believe the statute of limitations has officially expired on this particular operation of questionable legality.

I was coming back from Florida with my family. We had spent Christmas with my grandparents, and one of the highlights of that trip was visiting the enormous flea market near their house. It seemed endless, covering probably close to ten acres with tents and booths, each peddling something different. They had everything from soft pretzels and funnel cakes to toys to knives and leather jackets. For a kid of 9, this was heaven.

One of these booths was selling reptiles, wich makes sense because it’s Florida. They had everything turtle – including little green red-eared sliders – but the problem was that something didn’t make sense: It was actually nice. There was nothing to make us suspicious, which was very un-floridian of them and should’ve itself been a red flag. They had everything someone would ever need to take care of a reptilian pet, and in the middle, there was a solitary tank that was carpeted with nearly new-born turtles all squirming and tumbling over each other. My sister and I each fell in love and were adamant that we would not leave without one each. They were fairly cheap and fairly small, so a few bucks later, we each had our own baby turtle.

We got a small travel cage and some food for them, but past that, our new pets presented few obstacles… that is until we had to fly home. We were sitting in the airport getting lunch before we had to go through security, and none of us thought that we would have any issues. That’s when a TSA agent walked by. He stared at us a bit and finally walked off.

A few minutes later, he made a second pass.

On the third pass, he stops and speaks to my parents.

“I hope you aren’t planning on bringing those on the plane.”

We stared blankly at each other. He continued.

“You can’t bring those with you.”

More silence.

“I’m going to turn and walk away, and those should be gone by the time you get through the line.”

We were stunned silent. He walked off quickly leaving our problems to us. My parents didn’t know what to do, so my sister and I began to freak out. Nothing would’ve been worse than giving up our new pets. That’s when my dad made a suggestion.

Now this was before TSA used the full-body scanners. All they had were metal detectors, and that is the only reason dad’s plan worked. He looked over both his shoulders, snached the cage, and walked off to the bathroom. When he came back, the cage was empty. He stuffed the vacant container haphazardly in his briefcase, and sauntered confidently through security.

On the other side, my sister and I were very concerned that my dad had flushed our new reptilian friends. He walked past us with is briefcase. A sly little smile snuck across his face as he ducked around a corner and instructed us to stand in front of him to block the view. Cooly, he pulled one turtle out of each of his pants pockets and placed them back into the cage. He placed the cage back into the briefcase, covered it with some papers and set off down the hall as my sister and I stared at each other with wide eyes.

The TSA didn’t suspect a thing. The turtles stayed in his briefcase the rest of the trip and got back to Nebraska unharmed.

When we got back home, we were thrilled that we had our turtles. As we purchased our permanent acoutramont for the turtles, we soon learned that it was illegal to sell them until after a year. Ours couldn’t have been more than a month old when we bought them, and because of this, they both ended up dying within the next few months. We held funerals for each of them. Despite the trauma of a turtle-less existence, the experience of bringing them home has always stuck with me. I’ll always remember when my dad – the Colonel, the Boy Scout, straightest arrow I know – took one for the team and smuggled our two turtles through the TSA.

-Nickel