There were usually a few Customs Inspectors in the lounge, waiting to begin their shifts, hanging around trading news and incidents and drinking the bad, lukewarm kasser that was a standing joke in the Immigration-Customs Service. Old Grag was telling for perhaps the eightieth time of a success of his when he was young in the Service. "... They had this small box of sticky, squashy sweets with them. The young one was eating one. Many another Inspector would have passed them through, but I though