The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

I’m parked in the USA, but right now I’m in lockdown in Canada. Accidentally…. I wanted to get some information from Customs about an upcoming trip to Alaska with a glass project I’m installing and I couldn’t reach anyone by phone or e-mail so I decided to go up in person and do it without crossing the border, but … as the man with the gun just told me, I’m already in Canada now. He wanted to know if I had a gun too. Can’t blame him, I guess. Then he wanted to know if I had $10,000 on me. I guess the battered cowboy hat made him think I might be a Texas oilman on holiday. I didn’t have $10K on me right then so I figured a bribe was out of the question with what I did have.

Turns out I’m in the wrong customs — the one I need for information concerning transportation of art contraband is the commercial crossing 5 miles east. Trouble is, they’ve taken my driver’s license and asked me to sit over here. They just called me back up and asked what other states I’ve lived in. Maine, Michigan, California, Mississippi, North Carolina, Georgia, Wisconsin, Washington. I’m already homesick for all of them, especially Washington. And I still have to go back through U.S. Customs.

The custom men called me back up to the desk again. They wanted the keys to my truck. I gave them the keys. They wanted assurance there was nothing sharp when they searched it. Holy Kafka Krap. My license, my history, my truck keys. I was wishing I’d stayed home. I was wishing I’d eaten a Last Meal. I was wishing I’d said a last goodbye to Karen. Who’d never know why her husband never came home.

“Where’s your truck parked,” the customs agent asked for the 3rd time. I told him once more, the 3rd time. It was in Peace Arch State Park, in Blaine, Wa. IN AMERICA. No doubt loaded with syringes, briefcases full of hundred dollar bills, caches of small armaments, undocumented American fruit pickers, hockey spies, who knows? He gave me another Hard Once Over. 63 year old Caucasian male. Shabby clothes. Rumpled hat. Beard. Apparently migratory (but not anymore). . A walk-in purportedly looking for information. Right….

If possible, I’ll try to smuggle this out. If you get this, if you read it, call the embassy!! Tell them I’m an American citizen. I have rights, dammit! Well, I thought I did. I’m learning different real fast here in the great white north.

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This entry was posted on Friday, April 25th, 2014 at 3:41 pm and is filed under rantings and ravings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.