I hate German Customs

I hate German Customs.  Not lowercase customs, such as three days of Christmas, cloth shopping bags, and making unmarried forty-year-olds ride donkeys backwards through town.  I hate uppercase Customs, the German Zollamt, that controls packages and makes you pay taxes on them.

I've already run into trouble with German Customs once, when I had to pay 33 dollars in taxes on a package from my mother.  Luckily the guy I dealt with took pity on the fact that I was foreign and unaware of the policy, and only charged me half the tax he should have.  It was still annoying, but at least I learned something very important: you can order ten million dollars worth of sex toys and weaponry, as long as it's domestic, but don't let anyone send you anything from abroad that costs more than 60 dollars.

Except today I got a letter in the mail, that my friend Kim had sent me a (lovely!) necklace, that I had to pay taxes on--despite the value of the necklace on the package being under the limit.  I said the words "fuck," and "Sweden," a lot, hopped on my bike, and pedaled to the office while mentally taking out my hoop earrings and smearing my face with Vaseline.  "Hello," I said politely, "You guys are retarded."  And I explained the situation.  The same nice guy from Round 1 brought my package out of the back, and asked if it was really a gift.  "Yes," I said, "look, she even crossed out the box that says 'Gift.'"  "That doesn't mean anything," he said, "they all do that."  I looked him dead in the eye and said, "...So you're going to make me pay taxes on a gift marked as a gift that is under the gift limit because you don't believe me when I tell you it's a gift?"  We stared at each other for thirty seconds.  Then he said:

"What is your relationship to the sender?"
"We play the ukulele together."
"What's a ukulele?"
"It's like a little guitar."
"Anything else?"
"We met in Indiana."
"Where's Indiana?"
"In America.  We played Margaritaville together."
"What's Margaritaville?"
"A song by Jimmy Buffet."
"Who's Jimmy Buffet?"
"Give me the damn package or I put your face through Jimmy Buffet's guitar."

Then he made me unpack the box so that we could admire the necklace together.  He asked me what the values of the materials it was made with were.  I glared at him.  He started signing forms.

On the plus side, I got the package, I got to yell at people, I didn't pay taxes, and the necklace is beautiful, Kim!  On the down side, if any of you asshats send me sex toys or something embarrassing, and Customs makes me unpack them in front of their all-male staff, I will put your face through Jimmy Buffet's guitar.  SO DON'T GET ANY IDEAS.

Love,
Tina