March 17, 2008
This past weekend, I had to cross the US/Canadian border,
as I was going on a visit to see my ex-husband, who also happens to be my best
friend. Due to some medical issues, I
had spent the night before I left at the hospital and was discharged at the
last minute -- I made it home with moments to spare, flung a few things in an
overnight bag and hurled myself into a cab.
I only just made it to the station on time.
The trip itself wasn’t too heinous until we got to the US
customs check point -- and since 911 the Yanks have become a bit exercised
about security.
If you guys know me at all by now, you know that I’m
violently anti-American.
Let me clarify: I
hate what the Bush administration stands for and I hate US foreign policy,
cultural arrogance and general sense of entitlement -- but by the same token, I
haven’t met an individual American I disliked.
The ERA, Roe v. Wade, Republicans, the US Supreme Court generally --
don’t get me started.
I’m always sure that US border guards can smell the
hostility off me and each time I go into the US (which I do as infrequently as
possible -- it seems only polite to stay out of a place if you vehemently
disagree with the way they order their political agenda), I’m convinced I’ll be
arrested and sent to Gitmo, just for believing that George Bush is a dangerous
war criminal.
But here I was at the Buffalo border crossing, eye to eye
with a guy who looked very much like he just stepped out of a recruiting ad for
the Marines and I‘ll be the first to admit, I‘m weak for the type. I really go
for big Alpha Males. He was maybe 35,
about 6’5”, maybe 240, not an ounce of fat on him. Big brown eyes (I love brown eyes). No ring. Nice smile.
Hmm…what’s a girl got to do to get strip searched around
here?
(I have got to get out more.)
There’s a big sign behind each customs officer which
reads “Every conversation will be audio and video taped.”
I presented my passport and handed over my bag, which he
immediately unzipped and began to thoroughly explore.
As he was delving through it, we began to converse,
cordially enough at first.
“How long will you be staying in the US?” he queried.
“Just till Monday morning” I responded.
“What’s the purpose of your visit?” he asked, as he was
rifling through my overnight bag, searching for drugs or guns or bombs or
whatever the hell else people tend to smuggle into the US.
“I’m visiting relatives”, I replied.
“What relatives do you have here?” he asked.
“My ex-husband, mainly.
He's Canadian, but he works here.”
Why was I getting so nervous? All of this was true. I
wasn't lying to the man.
“Your ex-husband?
That seems awfully friendly.” he
responded.
“Yes, he's my best friend.”
“Is that why you didn't pack any underwear?”
WHAT?! Holy crap! He was right! Curling iron, makeup, meds, socks, jeans, sweater, t-shirt but
nary a pair of panties to be found. I
flirted with the idea of claiming that Canadian girls always go commando and he
was welcome to check for himself if he didn‘t believe me, but in the end I
settled for the lame truth.
“I was in a bit of a hurry. I forgot.” I could feel
my face burning and only just resisted the urge to shout “I really did just
forget -- I'm not sleeping with him!”
He gave me a big, wolfish smile and slowly looked me up
and down once before zipping my bag up and sliding it back across the table at
me.
“Well now.
Welcome to the United States of America. You have yourself a wonderful weekend.”
Till next time.
Morrigan
