Uneasy Rhetoric

Wow, a monkey, here, and here. It appears, if I were to participate in this “monkey” (don’t call it a meme), I would have to tell a tale of an international border crossing.

Honestly, I don’t think I have any real stories to tell about international border crossings. I have done so exactly – Canada, France, Canada, France, Canada – ten times (five times there and five times back).

The Canadian crossings, other than the grilling by the nice customs agent heading back into the U.S. the last time, have all been boring. I will say though that I was somewhat concerned that I might be stuck in Canada. I have a very common name that, even though I share it with a sitting member of Congress, means I have to check in at the counter every time I fly because they have to verify that I am me and not someone else. On the way back the airline ticket agent in Canada managed to joke with me about it. He asked me which party I voted for. I told him “the one that didn’t win.”

The French crossings were also mostly uneventful. Coming back into the U.S. the first trip, my ears had not properly depressurized. I was walking through the customs area with my head to one side and shaking it back and forth. That, and I was dog tired. The customs agent could not believe I’d only spent $100 in France. “Food,” I had said. Which was true. I ate pretty much all of the money I spent. Then he proceeds to grill me about my job. Fine. But he asks me how many members the Oregon Legislature has. “Ninety,” I said, “Sixty House, Thirty Senate.” Like he would know. If I’d said “Nine hundred and fifty, all Green Party members. They have very small districts.” maybe I still would have gotten by. Or maybe not. It was Texas, after all.

Going in to France the second time, I handed my passport through the window and said “bonjour.” The customs agent, who had his head twisted all the way around, owl-like, said, I kid you not, “oh la la.” Probably had something to do with the blonde ahead of me in line. Even with his head turned 180 degrees, he managed to take my passport, open it, close it, and hand it back. I don’t think he ever saw me.