You’d think after driving a truck all week the last thing I’d want to do is spend the weekend driving. Well I did. The kids had their heart set on a shopping trip across the border. Not exactly my cup of tea but why not? Before long they’ll want to go by themselves (probably with my money) and leave poor old dad at home. Anyway, I learned a few things while I was travelling through America the beautiful.
Don’t torment the
U.S.A. Border Guards– I sure wanted to. When we pulled up to the booth a goofy looking homeland security guard came bounding out like Roscoe P. Coltraine on crack. He shuffled through our passports like they were a deck of playing cards and asked me if I was planning on leaving anything behind in the US. What the hell did that mean? Did he think I was going to forget the kids? I assured him I wouldn’t even though I felt like wrapping a towel around my head and telling him I might drop off a couple of pipe bombs at the capital. He gave me back my documents, then asked me the same question again. No searching the car, no questions about criminal records, just if I was planning on leaving anything behind. I bit my tongue and again told him I wouldn’t. He let us go on our way. But the way he was going on I’m sure one snide remark would’ve landed me in the fun room with a free strip search.
Be prepared for
shopping– Years ago I could sit at a bar drinking until the place closed and the bartender tossed me out. Teenage girls are pretty much the same in a shopping mall. They weren’t going anywhere until the lights went out. So I had to be prepared. I got a Uncle Henry’s trading magazine, sat down in a chair in front of a store and hunkered down for the long haul. After I’d read it from cover to cover and realized the girls still weren’t ready to leave, I started to panic. I had delusions of being in the mall until September. And pushing the car home when there was no money left for gas. Finally they emerged, ready for the hotel. I breathed a sigh of relief as my pulse returned to normal. Until they broke it to me they were going back again the next day. Good Lord!
Don’t order poutine–
If you go to any fast food joint and order a poutine, be prepared for your hostess to look at you like you are on some sort of narcotics. They’ve never heard of it. You might as well order a slab of well-done water buffalo. Which makes no sense to me cause they have fries, gravy and cheese. How come they can’t figure out how to put it together? Maybe they should add that course at fast food university. And forget about ordering a double double or McChicken sauce. They’ve never heard of those either. You’d think we were from Mongolia, not Canada. Next time I go across I’m going to order some fiddleheads and gaspereaux. That should get some looks…