O Canada, We Stand on Guard for Thee

It never struck me that my van (name forthcoming) would make it hard to cross the border, but I probably should have seen it coming.

I have been to the Canadian border at Niagara Falls, and therefore know that the Canadians somehow managed to get the much better area. It is common knowledge that the American side of the Falls pales in comparison.

Well, go figure, but the Canadian side is nicer on the West border too. Couldn't we have negotiated this better? I know our military is spread out right now, but surely we could still scare Canada into giving up the good land.

As I drive toward the border I am met with an arch that would have surely disappointed Napoleon. It has a US flag on one side and a Canadian flag on the other. On one side it states "Children of a Common Mother," which I think is far too Britain-heavy a message. On the other side it states "Brethren Dwelling Together in Unity," which I hope is a clever ploy to throw Canada off track until we find a way to steal some of their land.

Of course, when I get to inspections, I am singled out to head into customs for a security check while others are cleared to drive on through. This happens to me when I'm not driving a suspicious looking hippie van (name forthcoming), so it doesn't surprise me now.

What does surprise me is the stern look on the faces of all the Canadian guards. I know they're just doing their jobs, but an accusatory stare is not the best way to greet tourists. I need Canadians to maintain their delightfully harmless reputations so I can pretend to be one of them when I travel abroad.

Right now, the man in charge of my fate looks less than pleased with me, thus marking the 2,756th consecutive time a French-Canadian has made me nervous. This particular French-Canadian asks a lot of questions and refuses to smile.

"Where are you going?"

"Vancouver."

"How long will you be there?"

"I dunno. I was thinking like three or four days."

"Exactly how long will you be there?"

"Four days."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Both."

"What do you do for business?"

"I drive around searching for the meaning of life."

"How much money are you taking with you?"

"Huh. I guess I don't have any money on me right now. Go figure."

"Where will you be staying?"

"My van?"

"What?"

"My van. I'll be living in my van. It doesn't have a name yet."

"Do you have a business card I can see?"

"Sure."

"Take a seat sir. I need to check on some things."

At this point, I sit and he starts fact-checking, presumably perusing this web-site. As I wait for clearance, I decide that a guy with no money, living in his van, searching for the meaning of life sounds like a really stupid cover some terrorist would cook up. You know, if said terrorist was really bad at his job.

It is also at this point that I begin to regret not shaving. As the guard peruses my site, I start to worry about the moose joke I made on my most recent blog. Canadians are notoriously thin-skinned, and I would hate to give him any reason to keep me from crossing the border.

After what seems like forever, he hands me my papers and sends me on to the land of beer and hockey; he still never smiles.

The important thing, however, is that I will ride me a moose yet! Bring it on, Canada.

(For the record, Canadians are not particularly thin-skinned. I just enjoy calling large groups out for being thin-skinned, because any offense taken becomes painfully ironic when expressed out loud.)

(Oh, and if I happen to find the meaning of life in Canada, don't worry. I vow to bring it back to the good old US of A, regardless of how much it weighs. That's a patriotic promise.)