Greg and I went on a weekend getaway and drove across the border into the U.S. on the first leg of our adventure.
Despite not being smugglers, we still feel on edge during the 12 second interrogation with the customs agents.
Mostly, because they tend to ask questions that totally catch the driver (Greg) off guard and in all of the years we’ve been taking these trips, no two questions are ever alike.
Sometimes we’re asked if we have any fresh produce while eating freshly picked apples.
Sometimes we’re asked if we own the vehicle.
“Where do you work Mr. Schwarzenegger?”
Any other day, any other person, Greg would explain (at great length) his career in sales which then turned into a management position and all of the incredibly innovative (yawns-ville) products and services his company offers.
“I’m in telephony.”
Border Agent: You work at the symphony?
We’re going to jail.
Our next stop was another search at the airport.
After handing my passport to the security personnel, he said, “Canada, hmm. You know the flight that was brought down by a Canadian goose?”
“I do.” (I did)
“Well they don’t call Canadians terrorists do they?” followed by a crazy person giggle.
So where do I pick up my orange jump-suit?
After finally arriving at our destination, the smoke detector was making an intermittent beeping sound, signalling the battery was low.
When Greg climbed up to remove the front panel and replace it, the computerized voice (Siri’s cousin) inside the machine starting shouting, “Fire! Fire! Warning! Warning! Carbon Monoxide! Fire!” etc.
I thought she was shouting, “Fire!” “Burning!”
If they had one that said “Fire!” “Burning!” “Jaws!” “Bats!” “Border Guards!” I definitely would have gone home.