Canadian Customs doesn’t like me. I’ve never had a smooth crossing. Why, I don’t know. I’m always polite, always have my car papers in order, always have I.D. Almost always get sent to a parking spot and my vehicle checked. Aargh!
In the early 80’s, my employer had an assembly operation in Chilliwack, BC that was part of my responsibilities. The required two or more visits a month from our Seattle area base seemed to always be a hassle.
A client was hosting a meeting at the Empress Hotel in Victoria the January 1982 Super Bowl weekend. Decided it was a good idea to arrange child care for the weekend and bring my wife. Not my best idea, as it turned out, but the intentions were good.
One of her less endearing traits was finding great amusement in my minor trials and tribulations.
We arrived at the Blaine crossing with time in hand to cross and make the ferry sailing at Tsawwassen for Vancouver Island. Traffic was very light. There we met the bitch from hell. For an hour we walked around my car. Everything was checked, to the point of removing the spare tire, while I waded around in the slush in street shoes. Finally, it was decided I needed to post bond on some brochures and samples. A value was established in Canadian dollars and the paperwork filled out. I asked them if they accepted US currency. With an affirmative answer, they met my loud Ugly American persona. “How much is it in Real Money?” “Can’t you find more things to waste my time?” Suddenly, they wanted me gone. While all this was going on, the wife sat in the car and giggled behind her hand. Onward to the ferry terminal in time to see the ferry sailing away. Next ferry, ninety minutes. Ninety minutes, wet shoes, restaurant closed, sitting on a wind swept rainy parking lot with someone to whom my feelings were not fond and loving at that moment.
Fast forward to the hotel. She didn’t like the room. “Dear, the damned place was built in 1903. Our stay is an adventure in yesteryear. British Empire and all that, pip, pip, pip.” Yeah, right.
The hotel was hosting a hockey convention. These guys had all played years before but were having a great time replaying the games out in the hall, late at night, loudly. A call to the desk didn’t receive a satisfactory response. My personal tactful request that they, “Haul your drunk beaver fucking asses somewhere else; I’m trying to sleep.” wasn’t accepted with good cheer. In fact, they seemed offended. Again, the wife was amused.
Enjoyed the hotel “tea” and brunch; great food. The city was wonderful. Even better, in later years, sharing it with someone I liked. The meeting went well, order books were filled. At the border, checking my items against the bond was fast and smooth, Of course, the BF’s made the refund by check three weeks later (in Canadian dollars).
Would have been better if the Niners hadn’t won. My employer was headquartered in San Francisco. A year of listening to how great the Niners were got old in a hurry.
My last crossing into Canada was three years ago from North Dakota. SSDD.
Over the years I’ve crossed many borders. Never a problem, except Canada. I’ve rarely had a problem with US Customs.
One of the more amusing aspects of living in Western Washington was the ongoing salmon wars with British Columbia.
http://www.discovery.org/a/365
In 1994 the British Columbia Premier had national aspirations. He engineered a scheme where USA fishing boats transiting Canadian waters would be required to pay a $1,500 fee. The only other option was a long trip out to the Pacific Ocean and around Vancouver Island. He hadn’t counted on Mike Lowry.
Mike Lowry was the Governor. He was a long term Congressman who only served one term as Governor due to a little head thinking for the big head problem. He was a liberal Democrat who never backed down. What you saw was what you got. He was highly respected by all as a man who kept his word. You may not like where he stood but you knew where he stood.
Lowry’s response was to turn the Washington State Patrol loose on the Canadian truckers hauling lumber to California. Every truck was inspected and turned back to Canada if even one light was out. Soon the border crossings were jammed. In addition, the county deputies got involved. Canadian speeders no longer got to sign a promise to appear; they got to post a bond. DUI and Canadian? Think Tijuana Jail.
Lowry was catching heat from the US State Department, both US Senators, and others but he held his ground. Very soon the Canadians dropped the $1,500 fee and refunded the ones already paid.
I never had a dog in that fight but I ever so much enjoyed those Canadian Customs folks dealing with that mess.
For the most part, I like Canadians. I do find them to be just a bit full of themselves.
What do Canadians think of me? Do you think I really care?
