Oh Canada-American Customs Can Suck It

Posted on June 8, 2010 by MidWesternMamaH in It's Juicy

Today I have a Guest Post from Holly at MidWesternMamah after this your going to want to go follow her blog and then probably ~~stalk~~ follow her on twitter also. ( @midwesternmamah ) So without further ado I step aside and turn my blog for today over to her.

Here’s Holly

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On Monday our dear Peachy told of her Canadian adventures. While reading this I remember some years ago and my experiences in Canada. More specifically, US Customs coming back in.

Picture it, Spring Break 1984. My boyfriend (who will be referred to as B) at the time and I decided to take a cross country trip during my Spring Break from college. Being that we already lived in Florida it seemed a bit redundant to stay there for break, so we decided to go to up the east coast and then across to Michigan. He was from Virginia originally and still had his brother living there as well as family in Michigan. I had never been to these places so I was all for it. He got the time off of work. He was a Paramedic by trade. This piece of information will be useful later.

The road trip to Virginia was good. We had a nice visit with B’s brother and his family. We went to Washington DC and did the tourist thing.

Time came to go across to Michigan. We were having a ball. Saw the tulips in Holland Michigan, then made our way to the upper peninsula (u.p.) to see his other family in Sault St Marie, Michigan. The day we left there headed back to Florida, we decided to get wild and go into Canada. I mean why not, we were so close might as well go. Right?

On our way into Canada we stopped at their border. They asked if we had anything to declare and the nature of our visit. Now you must remember, this is pre 911 so it was a pretty casual thing. We told them we had our luggage in the back as well as B’s kit he took to work ( it contained hemostats and various things he used at work) and we were going into Canada just because we were that close and wanted to say we had been. The little guy at the gate in the adorable red suit wrote all this down, gave us paperwork and told us to ” Enjoy Canada.”

We were in Canada only a few hours. Saw the other side of the Soo Locks, did a few other things. The one thing I did notice, every woman I saw had red hair and was pregnant. My hair was red at the time ( thank you L’Oreal) and the whole pregnancy thing was making me nervous. I didn’t know if it was contagious, but I knew I didnt want it. I suggested we get going. We headed back to the good old US of A. This is when the proverbial scat hit the fan.

We are in line to come back into America. There was a pretty long line of cars. Some were being summoned over to the side, the others were left to go through to America.

We get up the line, give our papers to the customs officer, the AMERICAN customs officer and expected to be told to go on. He took one look at us and we were summoned to the side and told “not to get out of the car.” Okay, now I’m getting worried. B is telling me not to worry we hadn’t done anything wrong.

Soon another customs officer came to the car and told us to step out. We did. He asked us to tell him what we had in the car. Again we told him luggage, and B’s work kit. We had to provide I.D. , B even gave them his card to prove he was a paramedic. The officer looked at the ids, and told us to follow him into the customs office. Soon other officers followed with our luggage and my purse as well as our jackets from the back of the car in tow.

I noticed something odd as soon as I walked into the office. Every single person they had detained appeared to be under the age of thirty five, forty tops. I whispered this to B and he shook his head that he noticed it too.

We sat in corner office with another officer for what seemed like an eternity. Then we were escorted into separate offices. I stayed in the one we were in and B was taken to another. Soon another officer came in with a female officer. I was shaking by now. We weren’t being told what was going on, and now we were separated.

Officer Asshole ( yeah I went there) sat down across from me crossed his arms and looked me dead in the eye and said, “we searched your suitcases and purse, want to tell me what we found?” I was terrified and on the verge of tears but managed to say “clothing and our toiletries.” Officer Asshole then said “try again, we found what you was hiding” “wanna tell us how much you sold across the border” I was dumbfounded because there was nothing to find and we didn’t sell a thing. I knew now he was trying to play me, get me to confess to something that was false or to tell him where in our cases to find our “stash” if one did indeed exist. Fear soon started turning to anger. At that point I told him” he didn’t find anything and they wouldn’t find anything because there was NOTHING TO FIND.” By now the tears were coming. Fearful tears mixed with anger tears. Officer Asshole then looked to the lady Officer, Officer Douche Nozzle, she took the cue. She started asking me “why are you so afraid Miss________, if you have nothing to hide?” The level of condensation in her voice made me snap. I looked at the both of them and told them as firmly as my quivering voice could “because Ive seen movies where people go into foreign countries and NEVER come back.” This didn’t impress either of them, but I felt a level of confidence having said it.

B was then brought back into the room and we were left there alone. He told me basically he got the same treatment only there was two male officers. They questioned him as to why he had the paramedic bag with him especially the hemostats. He told them he was a paramedic, had showed them id to prove that, and had just simply forgotten to take it out when we left Florida. He also told me very loudly that he was certain we were being listened to through the phone on the desk. Soon we found out he was right.

The doors opened and Officer Asshole and Officer Douche Nozzle was in the entrance way. I was told to go with her and he with him. We were going to be stripped searched. This totally freaked me out, but I didn’t show it. I was led into the small very cold room and told to take my clothes off and turn around and squat. I did. She told me to get dressed, and follow her, I did. I was led up to the front entrance where we came in and B was waiting for me with our suitcases and my purse.

We were then led outside to our car. They were putting the carpet back down and the front seats back in. When they were done, we were handed the car keys and told to “have a safe trip” . A SAFE TRIP !!! I screamed. B then took me by the shoulder and told me to just get in the car. I did. He then told me that he too was stripped searched. I was so angry, so angry I could hardly see straight.

They were pulling over young people who I guess they thought fit the description of drug traffickers. Never mind that granny and gramps were probably smuggling into kilo after kilo and God knows what else under the seats of their mini vans. But, because we were 19 and 21 driving a camero from Florida we were automatically drug dealers.

Recently I talked to B for the first time in a few years. One of the first things he asked me was “want to take a trip to Canada?” In true Holly fashion, I told him to “get bit.” It was good to be able to laugh about it together after so many years.

The whole experience drove home a lesson I had learned long ago. Never judge a book by it’s cover, and always wear clean underwear when you leave the house.

Thanks so much for this story Holly, your a hoot. So readers make sure to ad her to your favorites and follow her on twitter.

http://midwesternmamah.blogspot.com and @midwesternmamah

Moronic Monday-Honey I lost the kids

Posted on June 7, 2010 by ThePeachy1 in Moronic Mondays

So today is Monday. Me and Monday have a long history of not getting along, infact I am pretty sure Mondays have been out to kill me for decades, yet every week I fight the good fight and try to kick Monday in the junk. With all my self imposed power ( insert evil scientist about to take over the world laugh here) I have decided that every Monday I will tell a story to let you know what a big friggin moron I am. It wont be hard. If you have read my blog at all this should be clear, to quote Col Jessep Crystal Clear. You may have noticed a hint during me burning down my house, or any of my other daily fun adventures. This one is super cool it involves me breaking international laws and furthering the stereo type of dumb Americans, particularly from the south.

The setting. My mom and Grandparents moved from Florida to Michigan and my Grandfather had passed away. I know old people are supposed to move TO Florida not From it. Don’t ask that is an entire different post. About a year later I drove all my kids up to Michigan. I wanted them to see where I had went to elementary school and visit “that” side of my family. So we do.

They are shocked to find out I walked blocks, crossed train tracks and a freakin raging dam on my way to elementary school. I was also shocked, the miracle I survived the Slo Gin fiz drinking style of parenting my mother was probably the explanation for why my luck is so shitty now. I used it all up just surviving . But that day, I totally owned her. I took them to the Dam Park, where we drove my mother insane. See my kids were around 13, 11 and 1. I pulled into the park and my daughter immediately caught the pun. I said ” kids this is the dam park”. My mom lost her shit, my daughter said, “can we play on the dam swings”, My mom lost her shit again. It went on with the Dam sidewalk, the dam parking lot, the dam bushes and so on and eventually even the 11 year old chimed in( he may have issues but he aint stupid). So after we had tortured my mom enough we went to our Dam parking space and got in the car and left the Dam park. I think my mom lost her shit enough to qualify as a spokes person for Alli that day.

We went back to my mom’s and went through Grandads stuff. I didn’t want his money or bonds, I wanted the things that meant “him”. So I got a sword from his Calvary days, and some carpentry tools.. Now if your not familiar with real carpentry some of these tools look like torture devices used in the movie ” Saw” but to me they were just tools, his tools. We continued our visit. Saw the sites. There aren’t many sights in Alma Michigan.

So we are all driving around and I come up with this ~~dumb ass,~~ brilliant idea to take the kids to Canada. I remember going thru the St Salt Marie Locks as a child and thought wow this will be a neat learning experience. So we get on the highway and go to Canada. No big deal. It was awesome. We went to a store and bought stuff, we talked about their money being loonies, instead of dollars. We fed Canadian geese, it was just a full on neato educational kind of day. Then I get on the main strip to head back to the states and it hits me. I realize I have no way to prove my kids are american citizens. Not one kid has ID, I don’t carry their birth certificates, and they are too young to drive. Then my gut got in a tighter knot. I realized HO LE SHIT. I have weapons in my car. Now this may or may not be a big deal. But it was right after 911. So there were all kinds of crazy customs body cavity searches going on and here I was with 3 kids with no documents, a sword and ax and other miscellaneous killing objects in my car, and oh yeah my gun, cause I don’t go anywhere with out my 45. ( yeah that’s right I pack heat, don’t judge me, I drive across country with 3 little kids, and I will shoot somebody) So my brain is going in 500 directions and my pulse is racing, my sphincter is tightening. I consider the option of a hotel and having the DH mail me documentation on the kids but what to do with the weapons? The weapons they didn’t even check me for getting INTO the damn country but I knew I would get arrested trying to bring back in. Not an option. My husband had told me not to lose any of the kids on the trip. Whoops. Sorry honey, I lost all 3 and I am in prison can you come get me. No that’s not an option.

Then like a beaming bright cartoon light bulb over my head the solution passed me at a stop light. The OPP. No not the “are you down with OPP yeah you know me” OPP, but the Ontario Provincial Police, OPP.

So like the truly whacked out mom I am. I blow through a red light and start flashing my headlights at him. Why you ask. I needed the cops. You may not see the grand scheme here but my brain works on a different wave length then the average bear. It has to, for survival purposes. My older kids are all like, “MOM WHAT ARE YOU DOING”… I say all calm and June Cleaver like, ” Look kids it’s a real Canadian Policeman, wouldn’t it be so cool to meet him and like take a picture? ” Are you following my train of thought yet? The kids weren’t either it’s ok.

I tell the kids, it’s very important as soon as he pulls over they bail out of the car and run up and hug him, close, yes, hug the stranger in the foreign country policeman as soon as we ~~get his WTF is he not writing me a ticket ass~~ ~~over~~ roll to a stop. So after tailing this cop and honking and flashing my headlights and blowing through red lights and stop signs He finally pulls over. My kids follow the plan perfectly the rush him like they saw a short line at Disney, as I snatched the baby out of his car seat and thrust him into the arms of the Canadian Cop. I grabbed my old fashioned film style camera and began fake clicking away. ( I had used all the film taking out of focus pictures of them feeding the damn Canadian Geese)

OH wow kids out of focus geese... LOOK !

Now to all of you reading along this may or may not sound like I have flipped out and finally went over the edge. And you may or may not be correct. But as usual there was a method to my madness. As the OH SO SHOCKED cop is standing there with my kids clinging on him holding my toddler and all of them totally hamming it up for the camera. I began saying utterly insane touristy stuff.

” Kids, go ahead and ask him if he is a real Mounty, you know like Dudley Do-Right”( gratuitous mention of another Brendan Frasier film). Yes I went there, and yes I made my children be the pawns they were destined to be the second that egg attached to the wall of my uterus. The Officer looked confused and agitated and I believe he may have rolled his eyes ~~a few thousand times~~ a couple times. We laid on the dumb American as thick as we could. And I even made the kids show him the new ” Loonies” they had gotten and they asked all sorts of dumb touristy questions that were way below his paygrade as I fictitiously snapped a thousand pictures with the camera with no film.

When I felt we were balanced perfectly on that fine line before getting placed in the Canadian nut hut and assuring him we were clearly dumb American Tourist. I said officer I have a weird question for you. I took my baby and placed him back in his car seat. And shooed the other two into their designated seats.

“Can you tell we are American Tourists?” I ask. He nods so fast I think he could have given himself a concussion. So I start, ” well we were just visiting family in Michigan and I wanted the kids to see your lovely country and I sort of just drove here un prepared. Now I am confused because I didn’t bring any proof they are mine to get them back in the country.” Cut to the kids fighting WWF style in the car while screaming , ” Mom he’s touching me” , “MOM I am gonna kill her for breathing my air”.

Me, ” Officer can you tell they are my kids”… He again nods with profound clarity that no one would ever try to steal these kids. He explained very nicely that the older 2 could probably get me through customs because they would be asked questions about the family and where we lived and other things and in turn it would end up verifying the baby and we would probably get through after a few hours and blah blah blah…

See my brain shut down when the entire fate of getting all my darling children back in the States hinged on “the older 2”. My daughter was around 13 and would have jumped at the chance to explain to customs that the 11 year old brother was actually an international spy with Wolverine like Adamantium bone grafts in hopes he would not make it past customs. And well the 11 year old could not be counted on because of the Autism / Aspergers thing he was likely to tell them some fantastical story about being from another planet, or that he had no clue who we were. I had to take the next precarious step in my ” hey cop look how stupid I am adventure”.

I said, “well you see there is something else and clearly I wasn’t thinking about it, but we just settled my grandfathers estate, that’s why we were in Michigan to begin with cause we live in Florida have you been to Florida it’s lovely really is , if you ever come to the States you have to visit Florida.” {breathe} “Anyway my Grandfather was awesome, he was a master carpenter built houses, barns, cabinets and just about anything, it was would it was like art, seriously you should see his stuff it’s so awesome, if you go to Alama Michigan you can see tons of his work {breathe} . It’s working, he’s nodding along my systematic wearing down of his brain by submersion into my life story in 2 minutes along with my ninja like photo op children he is ready to hear anything. So I open the back of my van. He looks in. I said, ” See this was his sword from his days in the Calvary and this is his wood tools and his ax and I didn’t think about it when we came into your country but I think these might be considered weapons and I am all freaked out between the kids and the weapons I may not get through.” {breathe}.

“OH yeah, and I totally have a loaded 45 in a lock box under the front seat.”

He wipes either sweat or tears from his eyes. I couldn’t tell by his boiling red face that was crinkled like he had just been forced to suck a lemon if he was about to taser me or trying to not piss himself laughing. He pauses less than 1 second.

He grabs a pad out of his pocket, removes the pen from his uniform pocket, all my vital organs shut down. He’s writing? This is better than the entire draggin me off to jail thing right? I mean a ticket I can deal with a ticket, I deserve a ticket I blew through all those stop signs and flagged him over. Do you get a ticket for being a dumb ass? Is it a misdemeanor or a felony. I could see my self in a Canadian Court being charged with felony dumbassery.

Yes your Honor I am a dumb ass, but I don't think I am a Felonious Dumb Ass.

He hands me the slip, without saying a word. My knees are trembling and there’s this pain in my gut, probably because my heart has stopped pushing blood to my vital organs.

He had given me directions to go down along some oil fields and catch a ferry where I wont get stopped. He also makes me promise to just go ahead and leave. As in LEAVE HIS COUNTRY.

That’s the condition? Leave Canada ASAP? Dude we are totally on the same wave length here. I did. I followed those carefully written directions on which he even included an artistic map so a dummy like me wouldn’t get lost. Or maybe he thought I couldn’t read Canadian ( dude I know it’s English just like we write here it’s a friggin joke, seriously, maybe. ). I don’t know the point is he wasn’t taking any chances of me NOT getting out of his Country and it worked, and I was out of there.

So apparently if you prove your a big enough stereotyping american butt head tourist and give the background on the weapons your toting, and your kids act like they are escaped criminals that would make Hannibal Lector curl up in a ball and rock back and forth. The law will be on your side. Oh yeah and they will ask you to go ahead and leave their country too..

So there’s your travel tip for the day, or you could just go ahead and bring proof that your kids are yours and american and leave the weapons at home… totally your call..