Adventures with Canada Customs

Before I tell this story, readers need to know that: (a) my former husband was Canadian, (b) I have lots of friends and relatives north of the 49th Parallel, and (c) I've been going back and forth across the border since 1965.

So, last weekend I was on my way north--with passport in hand, because I know our federal government in its infinite wisdom has decreed such paperwork is necessary. I avoided the Peace Arch Crossing, which is always an hour's wait in the hot sun, and went to the truck crossing, a possible ten-minute wait. I noticed the border person wasn't alone in the booth, but that often happens, and that he was a lot younger than my son.

"Where's home?" "Seattle." "Where are you going?" "Sechelt." "What's the purpose of your trip?" "To visit friends." And that's when things started to go weird.

"How do you know these 'friends?'" in a tone that implied the quotation marks I just wrote. I could hear him thinking "so called."

"I used to live in Sechelt."

"Are you a dual citizen?"

"No, I was a landed immigrant."

"Are you still a landed immigrant?"

"I have no idea." Which I don't. I've always assumed I lost my status when I divorced my husband, but I've never bothered to check. (I would have, had the McCain/Palin ticket won the last presidential election, but that's another story.)

He picked up a form and started asking me all the other questions like "am I bringing anything into Canada I plan to leave?" and "am I carrying any firearms?" and ticking things off. The he handed me the form and my passport and told me to report to Immigration.

Okay. So I pulled around the building and looked for a sign to tell me where to go, finally assuming the double doors to my right would take me somewhere I could ask directions. Inside was a long counter with at least eight computers, only one with a femlae clerk using it, and eighteen people standing in line (I counted them), including one young couple with a very cranky baby.

"I'm with you, kid!" I thought. I checked to see if there were any "no cell phone" signs, saw none, and pulled out my phone to check my messages: one from a client and one from Mother saying "I can't wake Lynn up." (Lynn being the sister who's undergoing treatment for cancer). That one gets answered immediately, and I'm told that Mother did wake Lynn. Finally. But what should she have done if Lynn hadn't roused? We had discussed this before I left, so I started to go over emergency procedures and the clerk yelled, "You can't use cell phones in here."

Okay. I told Mother I'd call her back later and turned off my phone.

Then the clerk did something that put her computer into perpetual recycle. After trying to re-boot, she went to find a supervisor, was gone about five minutes and came back alone. The couple with the cranky baby jumped the queue to ask if there's someplace to take the child so they can feed/change/rock it to sleep, and are told to return to the line. Eventually, a youngish man and one in early middle age came from some offices behind the counter, the youngish man started filling out forms at one of the other computers, the older one called out something unintelligible and the young couple go forward. After some consultation, they take a seat on the other side of the ropes keeping the rest of us in line and the baby stops crying.

Another youngish man appeared, and started working with the woman clerk's computer. The older man spoke to the one who's still filling out forms, and motioned the next person in the queue to come forward. The other youngish man and the woman clerk held a conference and the youngish man moved over to another computer station and started some procedure while the woman stood at her station. More consultation and they left.

The middle aged officer finished with the person who had been at the head of the queue and left, only to reappear on the "waiting" side of the counter. He spoke to the young couple and they left out the door I had come in by. Meanwhile, the woman clerk retruns and motions the next person to her station. The form-filler picked up his paperwork and left, the middle-aged man took his place and motioned the next people (the next four were all together) forward.

Things seemed to go fairly quickly and I wondered if I'll get the woman who yelled at me or the middle aged man, or if one or both of them will disappear and, if they do, who will take their places.

I get the middle-aged man. I handed him my passport and the form. He asked me why I'm there and I said "I have no idea." He blinks at me, and I repeat what I told the young man in the booth, this time adding that I moved back to the States when I divorced my husband, but I come back to visit friends three or four times a year. He turned my passport over and over in his hands, and finally asked me to have a seat in the roped off area.

Which I did. I practiced my deep breathing exercises and then decided to have a nap, which is all I could do under the circumstances. I was nearly asleep when the millde aged man arrived with my passport to tell me I could go. I asked him what the problem was and he said "we just needed to verify your identification."

Whatever.

I was almost out the door when I thought to ask, "Where are the signs saying 'no cell phones?'" He started to say "right over..." and stopped. "Well, there used to be signs." So I told him about my contretemps with the woman clerk and added that "you really need to replace those signs" as I walked out the door.

The next time I cross the border, I think I should say "I divorced my Canadian husband. I didn't divorce my Canadian friends." On second thought, that will probably land me back in the Immigration Office.