I peered out the window as the pilot made the final announcements. Small white pellets fell from the sky like bullet shells from a helicopters machine gun. I hadn’t seen it physically snow in four years. As we touched down the pilot came on the intercom, Välkommen till Göteborg. I felt the snowflakes kiss my face as I stepped off the plane as if to say, “we missed you.” I paused for a moment to inhale the fresh Swedish air. After a wedding in Atlanta for New Years, a weekend in Amsterdam and a layover in Munich, “I made it.” I let myself say it out loud to make sure it was real…

I counted the bags on the conveyor belt as I waited in anticipation for my backpack. When it finally arrived, I walked through the large double doors toward the passenger pickup area. She would be there waiting. What seemed like a distant fantasy for months was becoming a reality. My heart raced. I felt the butterflies begin to race up from my stomach. I sped up. I felt her presence like a magnet searching for its opposite. Time slowed as I approached the final turn. “Excuse me,” I heard out of the corner of my ear. They might as well have been a grasshopper as I ignored them completely. My disregard proved unsatisfactory. “Excuse me sir,” they pestered. “This way please. We need to check your bags.”
“Ahhh I’m sorry,” I said. “No problem.”

Some confusion arose when they came across several unmarked pill cases. “Can you please explain?” asked the guard politely. His accent was heavy and his equipment consisted of a handgun, club, Leatherman knife, flashlight and a wide array of other gadgets. He was roughly 45, balding and carried a gentle demeanor.
“Yes. These are Guarana and those are Willow Bark. It’s a natural caffeine supplement I use for working out.”
“And these?”
“Excedrin. It’s for headaches.”
“This one?”
“Vitamin C.”
“Why aren’t they in their original containers?”
“Well I’m doing quite a bit of traveling and the pill boxes are quite cumbersome. These are much more portable.”
“I see.” Said the officer. “Moment.” He went into the back room. About a minute later, four officers came out. Apparently they didn’t get much action. It reminded me of the police department in my hometown of Irvine. One speeding ticket and three officers show up because it’s more exciting than driving in circles.
“We need to search the rest of your bags. Come with us please.”
“Whatever you want,” I said calmly. After all, I had nothing to hide. A different guard whom looked more Turkish than Swedish, led me to a small, barren room with an uncomfortable metal bench. The door held a tiny glass window which was the only connection to the outside world. We entered together and he shut the door behind us. He said nothing. Time seemed to move as if we were in a dream from the movie “Inception.” One minute in the real world was sixty in this cubicle. Only this was no dream.

Just as I felt I was losing what little hair I have left, the former guard came into the room. “What are these?” he inquired as he held up a small pill bottle from my toiletries bag.
“Adderol. It’s similar to Ritalin.”
“What is it for?”
It’s given to people with A.D.D. to calm them down and help them focus. They spoke briefly in Swedish before the balding guard said, “I’ll be back. Moment.”

The Turkish guard informed me that they had to strip search me. Tilting. He began to inquiring about my travels, as a loose form of interrogation. I explained that I was coming from Amsterdam, visiting a woman in Sweden and moving to Florence. One could see the confusion looming over his head. We sat quietly for thirty seconds and I watched him agonize like a chess player contemplating his next move. “So what do you do? For work? How do you live?” he asked with vigor. Normally, I’d use this as an opportunity to live vicariously through one of my alter egos. They have recently ranged from writer to emerging rockstar but in light of the situation, I decided honesty was best.

“I play poker.” His face lit up. He started to pace. Now the real interrogation began. “I love poker!” he began. One thing led to another and thirty minutes later, we were discussing traveling, marriage and family, his dreams to visit America and the political differences between our cultures. I learned about his job in the field (customs agents in Sweden were also trained police officers), his love of tai kwon do and our mutual passion for food. When the other guard finally came back, they spoke briefly in Swedish of which the only word I could understand was “smuggling.” Not good.

They led me a different interrogation room, this one equipped with a computer and some grim pictures on the walls. The guards and I discussed the procedure for being caught with an Amphetamine in Sweden without a prescription. In short, he told me I was being convicted of smuggling narcotics. “How do you plea… plead… plea?” I laughed. “Plea.” Is this a joke? I thought to myself. Pablo Eskobar was a narcotics smuggler. “Isn’t that a little aggressive?” I asked him. I tried to explain the severity (or lack thereof) of this charge in America. After gaining no ground I plead “not guilty.” I had a bit of trouble understanding the language barrier, which dragged out the process. During the confusion, several other guards came into the room. I could sense their curiosity of the situation. They would ask several questions about my interrogation before getting to the point; “So I heard you’re a poker player…” At one point there were four guards and a first officer in the room with me discussing preflop strategy in Texas Holdem. After a brief lesson, I intervened. “Guys I’d love to talk all day, but can I make a call to my girl really quick? She’s been waiting outside for two hours and is probably going to kill me.” “I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to do that until the interrogation is over.”
“Are you married?” I asked the guard intently. “Well yes, he said proudly. We just had our twelve year anniversary last week,” he said in his broken english. “Then you know how your wife would feel if you flew across the world to see her and she couldn’t get a hold of you. She sat there worrying for your safety, wondering where you were. We had dinner plans tonight as well…” but before I could finish he raised his hand to signify that he understood. “Do you need my cell phone?”

Three hours passed and I knew more about the guards than I did some of my friends. “You know,” I told them during one of our lighter moments, “if I wasn’t starving and being convicted of smuggling narcotics, this would actually be quite enjoyable.” “We really wish we could let you go,” one of them explained. “But if you were my brother, I still have no choice.” I laughed. “We’re almost done though,” he promised. “I’m going to call the prosecutor and inform him of your decision. I’ll be right back. Moment.”

After four hours passed, the first officer came in and informed me of their final decision.
“We have a second charge for you,” he began.
“What is it?”
“Well we don’t have an english word for it, but in Swedish its called “something I can’t pronounce.” “Basically it means that you brought the drugs in without knowing they were wrong.”
“Ahhh like ignorance?” I said. More talk in Swedish amongst the guards.
“Yes… we think,” he said apprehensively. “How do you plea… plead… plea? Which one is it again?”
I asked him about my options and retributions I could face for each.
“If you plea guilty, you pay fine and it will be wiped from your record. If you not guilty then prosecutor call you in several days with his decision. You have hearing and talk to lawyer. This maybe take several weeks because you have to face trial.”
“I’m only here four days.”
“It’s up to you,” he said somberly.
“How much is the fine?” I said with a sigh.
“In Sweden it varies based on income. For you, very expensive.”
“Fantastic.” He brought out a calculator. That can’t be good. He furiously punched in numbers for a minute or so.
“Based on our calculations you owe 33,000 Kroner (roughly $5,000 USD)!
“There’s no way.” I’d expect that if I had two pounds of marijuana, 1,000 pills of ecstasy or a kilo of cocaine but 30 pills of adderol that I use sparingly for poker? Please.
He looked at me blankly. “Can I talk to the prosecutor?” I begged.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. You can only do that if you have a trial,” he admitted. I sighed as I banged my head into the wall behind me, making a loud thud that echoed across the room. Silence followed.
“Do you take American Express?”
“Let me check… Moment.”

Another half hour went by in a futile attempt to process the charges. They only took cash and checks which meant I would have to make another trip to Gothenburg to pay the fine on a later date (I left my little 33,00 Kroner back in Amsterdam lol). Before I left, I had to sign something (which was printed in Swedish) that stated I would be contacted in the next few days by a court representative with details regarding my case. I thought back to that movie of the two women convicted of smuggling drugs in Thailand where they signed their life away thinking they were stating their innocence while secretly being tricked into admitting guilt. “You don’t have any copies in English?” I inquired. “We ran out, but I’m afraid you cannot leave without signing this.” I had been there four and a half hours, was famished and had to pee. I thought for a moment. “Can the rest of you leave the room please?” They were a bit dumbfounded but after the first officer gave the nod, they proceeded. “Can you translate this for me please?” After he finished, I asked to talk to the Turkish guard in private. He came in and translated the exact same thing. I did this with the third guard as well. Everything was copacetic. Either this was the most elaborate hustle ever (in which case they deserved to bust me) or they were telling the truth. Pen in hand, I closed my eyes and moved my hand across the dotted line…

After a week of agony dealing with the aftermath of the case (I called every legal counsel in the US Embassy Registrar but none could help me because it was a Swedish holiday, several phone calls to legal counsel in the US, my CPA and advisors), I finally settled in Gothenburg for 5,500 Kroner ($800 USD) and was convicted of “negligence” (which won’t go on my record). In some ways, I’m frustrated because of the amount of time and energy it consumed but also because I feel the punishment was a bit steep. Worst of all, I have no more adderol which is tilting to say the least. In America, they’d laugh at this because adderol can be bought anywhere except vending machines. On the other hand, had I been in Thailand or Singapore I could have been caned or possibly given the death penalty. Just like anything in life, it depends on how you see it.

I take adderol an average of once a month, which is obviously not incriminating. Furthermore, I think the drug is absolutely terrible for our health and prescribing it to innocent children is a far worse crime. I clearly had no intention of selling the pills or causing any disruption in Sweden. Customs was fully aware of that, yet punished me anyway simply for possession. But what message does that really send? That I have to follow the system or I’m somehow a criminal? That If I don’t do it their way I’m condemned. If I don’t let someone else dictate how I will live my life then I’m somehow a worse citizen or I must pay for my actions? Who are they to tell me what I should do in my free time? I don’t tell anyone else how to live.

I know you’re thinking one of two things?
1) Why not just get a prescription?

I didn’t get a prescription for the same reason that you jaywalk; it’s entirely too convenient and you’re not really harming anyone. Adderol is easier to find than my favorite brand of cereal. I don’t follow rules or laws that I don’t see fit, simply because it’s “the law.” Some examples include rolling stop signs at 2:00 am when nobodies around, speeding on an open road because it makes me feel alive, or smoking a joint after a long day of work. Similarly, I don’t follow any of societies “unwritten rules.” I didn’t graduate college, I enjoy a long distance open relationship and I gamble for a living. More importantly, I don’t think any of these things are wrong. On the contrary, I wouldn’t conceive of committing certain atrocities regardless of their legality, such as murder and rape.

2) How arrogant of you. Who do you think you are? Alec Torelli or something? We all have to follow the rules or face the consequences.

Face the consequences, fine. But follow the rules, never. For its this blind obedience to authority that allowed Hilter and Stalin to massacre millions of innocent people. The Nazi’s were just following the rules laid out for them. If it’s the law, we must enforce it, right? It’s this “negligence” that allows wars to occur and our rights to be seized from our fingertips. It’s only for the tenacious work of few brave souls who’ve stood up to law makers that has resulted in slavery to being abolished, granting women the right to vote and corrupt empires to cease. Hundreds of years later, we’ve established national holidays such as Martin Luther King Day to commemorate these heros. But how were these revolutionaries perceived during the time which they lived? If they were lucky, these liberators were ridiculed, hated and persecuted. Most of them such as Martin Luther King, Joan of Ark, John the Baptist and John F. Kennedy were assassinated.

These visionaries all had one thing in common. They envisioned a world which had not yet existed. How can one be revolutionary if his ideas are the same as the masses? Yet despite this we still ridicule those who defy the system. We punish them for being out of place and herd them into being sheep. But being a sheep is dangerous. Power corrupted entities can be the shepherd to sheep. But what if you have the courage to think for yourself? They can’t control a free thinking individual. They can’t control me. While it is true I may not be able to change the rules that others lay down for me, but I can choose which ones I will follow.

“If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”
- Lina Knuthson, Sweden

How do we change the system? Abraham Lincoln once said, “the only way to change a policy is to enforce it completely.” Perhaps if everyone guilty of jay walking in San Francisco and NYC was given a ticket, people would see how silly the law is and change would follow. Perhaps if everyone who “sped” driving 80 mph instead of “following the rules” and going 65 mph were issued speeding tickets, law makers would see the speed limit is symbolic of life in 1970 and increase it.

Here’s some food for thought. If marijuana was legalized tomorrow and alcohol made illegal, would you then allow your kids to smoke weed but not drink alcohol? How sad if our morality and actions are based on the rules other people set for our lives. At what point do we draw the line? Is the above really any different than being the defying college student that tells his parents he doesn’t want to become a doctor because he is passionate about poker? After all, you’re breaking the “rules” set by your parents. Just because there is no legal penalties does that somehow make it okay? Whose rules do we follow and at what cost to our lives? The ambiguity makes it impossible to be consistent, unless we live our lives the way we want to. (Of course this means without imposing on others). Again, this means that we face the consequences. You’re going to disappoint people. You’re going to deal with morons. They’re not going to understand. You know what I say? As long as you’re doing you, who cares what they think? The real question is, who are you going to let affect how you live your life? I know my answer. Nobody. I use this quote as a healthy reminder to keep myself focused on what really matter. Doing me.

“50 told me go ahead switch the style up and if they hate then let em hate and watch the money pile up.”
- Kanye West

Disagree? Agree? Thoughts? Email me at alectorelli@gmail.com. You can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

Cheers,
Alec@justdoingme.com/fromSweden

(just a silly signature)