Customs

We showed up at Customs Sunday morning, looking smugly at the RVs and trailers in line, thinking they'd be torn apart before entering Canada.

They were waved on through; we were sent to a shed.

Though he will dispute the point, I think it was all in Guy's countenance. He does not like people interfering, so when things happen like going through Customs where you will be quizzed, examined, doubted, second-guessed, and probed, well, his patience wears thin, his jaw becomes set, his heavy eyebrows furrow and join; in short, he unintentionally develops this threatening look on his face. And the powers that be, well, they just can't leave things alone.

This is my version:

The attendant in the Customs booth, sporting a snake tattoo which circled his left bicep, appeared cheerful.
"Where you folks from?" he queried. We answered truthfully, to the best of our knowledge.

He responded, "Bonnyville? Been a long time since I was there."

He asked how long we've been in the States. Guy replied curtly that it had been a month, citing the date we entered which was Jan. 26th. Then we were asked what we were doing there.
"Visiting". Again with the unfriendly (or so it seemed to me) response.

We were asked if we have any large sums of money.
"No".

We were asked if we made any large purchases?
"No".

Then Mr. Customs Man said, "Excuse me for a minute" and closed his window and spoke into the walkie talkie on his shoulder. He opened the window and told us to move ahead, and go in front of Door #2, it would open for us. I still maintain that if we'd been friendlier and offered at least a wee bit of extraneous information instead of being so secretive with our "No" "No" responses, we might have been allowed to go.

But I guess it was our job that day to see that these Customs folks all have a reason for being there, and that their jobs are essential and that every single one of them is needed -- no cutbacks please.

Three people in uniforms greeted us in a shed which looked very much like the warehouses in the movies where hapless neophytes who don't know they are in way over their heads are told to go, to meet up with the mob types who shoot them on the spot and leave.

They told us to pop the trunk, get out of the car and "wait over there" behind a glass, a safe distance away but certainly not out of sight. There were several padded chairs that would be quite comfortable in case one should have to spend a loooonnnng period of time sitting, waiting, at their mercy....

Guy stopped part way across the room and turned back to the car. He reached inside and grabbed his wallet which was left tucked between the front seats. Nothing suspicious there, it just hurts his ass if it's in his back pocket while he's driving over long periods of time. But he just grabbed it, didn't tell them he was going to do it, just reached in and grabbed it (like it was holding something suspiciously precious), and the girl attendant rifling through the Purell and hand lotion and eyeglass cleaner and sundry other items in my small purse, she noticed him, and stared hard at him whilst fondling my stuff. I secretly sighed with relief when nothing transpired; I thought for sure he'd be punished for his perceived (by me alone it turns out) insubordination.

Again we were asked, "Did you make any purchases?" and again Guy said No. By this time I was thinking: They keep asking the same question because they don't like the answer they're getting. Change the answer!!!

Surely they're thinking: What? these folks were in the US for a month and didn't buy anything? Sounds suspicious to me -- sounds like they're hiding something....

With this in the back of my mind I "corrected" my husband; "We bought hats," I explained, pointing to the two obviously recent purchases in the back window of the car. He glared at me. As annoyed as he was at the customs workers, he suddenly turned all his glaring on to me.
Well, I figured if you are too black and white, it just doesn't look right. Of course we'd purchased things. Sure, it was mostly food and entertainment, but we had picked up two cowboy hats from a ghost town gift shop, and to me, it just sounded better if you casually offer bits of unimportant information. Made it seem less like an inquisition was going on. And if I had to do it over again, I would still tell them we bought hats. Because we did.
I was almost embarrassed that they started digging through suitcases. I was so sick of travelling that I hadn't packed anything neatly, just tossed everything and anything into one bag or the other. Good luck finding anything in there, I thought.
As abruptly as the ordeal began, it was over. No climax, no turning point, no sudden discovery, no apparent motive for their actions, no concrete evidence to justify their intense scrutiny. They slammed the trunk and told us to go. No one smiled, not them, not us. I would have been polite and cheerful but I was busy being mad at Guy for glaring at me.
Why we were ever checked, I'll never know. What I wonder is, why did I feel so guilty? I must have looked it too, how can you not look guilty if you feel it? And the harder I try, the less innocent I look, I'm sure.
Neither of us likes customs agents. Well, yes we like them well enough; we just don't like what they have to do.