Lyza and the US Customs Officers: a Play in One Act
July 13, 2005
Coming back from Vancouver today, I decided I was bored with the same-old, same-oldness of the Peace Arch border crossing on I-5 and ventured to try a different one, about thirty miles to the east. A bit of discovery, I thought, on my way back to Portland to get back to work.
I rolled up to the quaint border station leading to Sumas, Washington, in high spirits, making good time and pleased with the weather. Most of the cars in front of me were pretty much rolling right through the guard station, holding out passports at arm’s length. Locals?
My turn.
“Do you want to see my passport?” I ask in a lame when-in-Rome attempt.
The guard accepted it like she wasn’t really interested. Then the barrage of expected questions about what the hell I was doing.
“Where were you?”
“Vancouver.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business, but it’s always a pleasure.” Regretted that as soon as I said it.
“Do you have any alcohol in the vehicle?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Tobacco?”
“Definitely not.”
“Firearms?”
“God, no.”
“What’s in the box?” she asked, gesturing towards the top of my car.
“The box is empty,” I said. This Thule rooftop box was what the technician at the auto shop calls the ‘missle carrier,’ perhaps more apropos than he realized when he called it that a few weeks ago.
She gave me a look that said she wasn’t having any of it.
“Pull over there and give this form to the officers in the building.”
“Garrrr,” I say, driving off.
This is not by any means the first time I’ve been searched at the Canadian border. I used to travel with a Russian national. One word of THAT accent and it was please-step-out-of-the-car.
Another time I’d been on a relatively epic cross-country Canadian exodus in my rickety, crapass Camry. Sometime during the course of this drive we’d managed to wedge the trunk shut. The only way to access its contents was to physically remove the rear seat. Like with wrenches and stuff.
That time when we crossed back into the US, the border guard said: “I’d like to see inside the trunk.”
I think I responded something like: “So would _I_.”
This time, I walk into the small building and hand my passport and driver’s license over to a guy with a buzz cut and dark blue pants tucked into combat boots (like the rest of them in there). We’ll call him Spike for no particular reason other than it suits me.
“How have you been getting yourself into trouble, young lady?” he asked. I couldn’t tell if this was some bad sitcom setting itself up or something deadly goddamned serious.
“I don’t know.”
“Here, please fill out this lovely form from the US government. Then I’ll come back and talk to you about it.”
He wandered off and, in the distance, gathered up a weary-looking young man in pale grey sweats. They disappeared into a small room.
Form conquered, I stood at the counter. Then I continued to stand there like a dipshit. Another customs official, a regular Officer Friendly type with salt and pepper hair, said: “Young lady? [apparently my honorary title today for the first time since I was about, oh, thirteen] Is someone helping you?”
“I…think so. Could I use the restroom while I’m waiting?”
“I’m sorry, no. The…appropriate…official would have to…release you…for that.”
I stared at him.
“What did the gentleman look like who was helping you?”
“Oh, I don’t know…pretty normal looking. Dark, short hair.”
“Oh, ha ha ha. Normal looking? Ha ha ha. That pretty much rules any of us out!”
Yeah. Ha ha ha. Shit.
Another officer: “Was he stocky?”
Stocky?! I didn’t feel like I went back quite far enough with Spike to refer to him as stocky.
“Well, anyway, I’ll help you go through this form and make any, ahem, AMENDMENTS that you might want to before it gets officially submitted. Oh ho! Lookie here! You were born on the 22nd day of the 10th month?! Oh, ha ha ha. These must be switched.”
Well, shit yeah they were switched. What kind of AMERICAN form asks for birthdate as day-month-year? What is this, DENMARK? Damn socialists.
“I have to ask: do you have any snails or cell cultures?”
“No.”
“You are absolutely SURE you have no food?”
I think for a moment. “Well, I have some beef jerky I bought in Washington on my way up.”
He scribbles in the margin in red pen: “BEEF JERKY”
Under that he writes: “U.S.” and then a question mark, which he underlines three times.
“So…what are you DOING here?”
“I wanted to try a different border crossing than the boring ol’ Peach Arch.”
His look tells me that this is a very perplexing answer. I guess no one ever explores. “All by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. We’ll go look at the car.”
“Could I please use the restroom?”
“Okay, I’ll buzz you in.”
I do my peein’ in double time, worried about whatever surveillance I might be under. I came out and sat on a bench next to a window and watched three customs agents search my car. They wore black plastic gloves and looked like they expected to find something dead.
“Excuse me.”
I turned around. Yet another customs official. They were apparently in infinite supply.
“You’ll need to sit over here.”
Over here being a pew-like bench with no view to my car’s violation. I sat down and tried to recompose my face into passivity, afraid that my raging irriation would be misconstrued as paranoia or guilt. I start to worry that someone might have planted cell cultures in my car. Or that snails had snuck in overnight.
“What are they looking for in your car?” asks the most recent customs guy.
“I don’t KNOW,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“Portland.”
“Where do you live?”
I’m getting really tired of answering the same stupid questions over and over. “Portland.”
“Oh…you live in Portland?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a US citizen?”
“YES!” Hence the passport, you dolt.
A few minutes later, Spike returns and announces: “Well young lady, I’d really like to detain you further, but I have no cause!”
I stare at him bafflingly. He had said it with absolute cheer but it rang with an eerie seriousness.
Several hours later now, it smarts and confuses that I seemed suspicious. I wonder what they thought I had done. I mean, I’m a regular girl type in my mid-twenties, with a professional-ish job and an absolutely middle-of-the-road Audi station wagon. I even have an iPod.
I was sitting there preoccupied with getting home because I have work to do, not scheming some sort of elaborate or explosive subterfuge to overthrow the US government. How utterly peculiar.
19 Comments
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We use that border crossing pretty much every time we go to & from Canada — it’s usually quicker. We’ve never had trouble entering the US (it usually takes about 2 seconds and they wave us through), but we did get detained for a while going the other direction, into Canada. That was shortly after 9/11, though, and we didn’t have passports, so it was understandable… (though we’d gone our whole lives going to/from Canada dozens of times with only so much as a driver’s license)
Sounds like you’ve joined the club of “How to piss off US Immigration and get pulled over”. Recently had to fly to Denver from London (after getting the train from Nottingham) and when questioned by US immigration the guy (who was not a Spike though, quite normal looking actually) said i looked nervous. On being told this i told him that i’d been up 16 hours and not got any sleep on the plane so was just tired. It didn’t help that my company sent me at the drop of a hat so i had e-tickets with my email to prove i had tickets to leave the country quite well hidden. Also the recent trip to Chile and Argentina basically must have made him more suspicious, or maybe it was the fact i had terrorist tattooed on my forehead didn’t help. They must train them to be assholes imo.
Think i’ve been through that border crossing and although had to make the trip into the office nothing more was done and i was sent on my way.
I’ve been to a lot of countries, but none were as awful to get through immigration as Los Angeles Airport. I didn’t know where I was staying the first night (A friend was meeting me in arrivals), and since terrorists don’t have addresses for thier first night, that made me a terrorist. Sadly I wasn’t alowed to phone my firend and ask her address (because terrorists use phones), and I didn’t even know her surname for an announcement to be made. After queueing for 4 different desks, and accepting that deportation was on the cards, I was lucky enough that my friend responded to the announcement “Is there a Melissa waiting for someone on a Qunatas flight?” (They didn’t announce my name because terrorists have names).
In Australia, they wouldn’t let me in until they’d taken my boots away and washed them (leaving me standing in the middle of immigration in my smelly socks looking silly)
In New Zealand, they wouldn’t let me LEAVE until they had searced my backpack, concerned I might have insect repellant. When I realised I DID have insect repellant, and ran to tell them, they couldn’t care less.
oh you had an *iPod* did you? That’s what did it. Aileen had an iPod and we were driving the Saab (and dressed very white…I think I even had a shirt with a god damn collar on it) but they yanked us anyway. It was her iPod, I just know it.
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I guess censorship applies to this blog. I love double standards, especially by egocentrical, narcissistic know-it-alls.
Everyone who enters the United States is subject to search, including US Customs & US Immigration Agents…
I’ve been searched; I’ve been blown right through lane… airports and land borders alike!
Good guys and Bad guys (or girls) all look the same, and they can’t stop the bad guys without looking at a few good ones.
It is just a matter of perspective. Ever notice that police pull over out of state cars more frequently than in state cars? Did you know that 80% of large size narcotics seizures on traffic stops comes from an out of state car. If you are not doing anything wrong, no reason to worry – Right?
Sounds to me like you just felt violated. So if you don’t want to be subject to border search authority, don’t cross the border.
The whole story is pretty stereotypical of our society today. People complain when there are no cops around when they see a speeder – yet when the same person receives a ticket – the Police Officer is a jerk.
So I’d recommend instead of being upset at the Customs guys & gals for looking at your – thank them for risking their life to take drugs and felons of the street, and what little they are able to do to deter illegal immigrants.
*by the looks of things you will remove my comment since, my guess is, you won’t agree with my opinion. Bloggers & their Editing*
Everyone who enters the United States is subject to search and inspection – including US Customs & US Immigration Agents, Officers, Inspectors etc…
I’ve been searched; I’ve been blown right through line… airports and land borders alike!
Good guys and Bad guys (or girls) all look the same, and they can’t stop the bad guys without looking at a few good ones.
It seems to me too many people are feeling violated. So if you don’t want to be subject to border search authority, or an immigration inspection – don’t cross the border.
The fact of the matter is – if you are not a U.S. Citizen – then you are a visitor in the United States of America. It is a privilege to visit our great country – not an “Unalienable Right.” Most visitors that I’ve had at my house say “Thank you for having me over”…. Maybe the people who visit the United States should think of that.
The whole story is pretty stereotypical of our society today (U.S. & Canada). People complain when there are no cops around like say when they someone speeding – yet when the same person receives a ticket – the Police Officer is a jerk.
You can’t have the best of both worlds.
And don’t forget:
On Christmas, when you wake up safe with your family, think about the guys and girls working at the border (hospital, fire dept. etc) still – protecting you. On Sunday, when the Lynden-ites are in church… yep – they’re still there. They are at the Ports, day or night, & rain or shine.
So I’d recommend instead of being upset at the Customs guys & gals for looking at your car or asking you question – thank them for risking their life to take drugs and felons off the street, and what little they are able to do to stop/deter illegal immigrants.
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Hehe, I am Russian, well I think I have strong non-American accent (people sometimes ask if I am French) and Canadian passport and every time I cross the border going from Vancouver to Seattle or back – I think I am transparent or something… Last time they did not even swiped my passport on his computer in a booth
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There must be something suspiciously mead-eastern/terroristic with your faces, or haircut … :-)
Like anywhere in the world
Police/Military = IQ < average
, so people take that into consideration before trying to amuse them with your fine English humor.
Haha, look at these assclowns all bent out of joint about Lyza censoring her own blog. Yeah, dummy, like she wants to leave a bunch of offensive, cowardly comments on HER blog. It’s HERS, go write your own blog, save us your outrage. Here’s my impression, “Hey, how come you deleted my insulting comment, what are you, some kind of right-wing fascist?” Hey, genius, if I went to YOUR house and put up a big sign on YOUR lawn that said, “irrational idiot” you’d probably take it down, you pro-censorship commie. This isn’t a freedom of speech issue, it’s a “people on the internet are rude assholes” issue. I am not an anonymous poster, I don’t say anything on this comment board I wouldn’t say to your face, none of you cowards who post anonymously can say the same.
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Dear administrator:
Some of our comments above may include links that are no longer valid or that do not have a nofollow value. They might very well lead you today to a third party. Therefore,
I ask you, if you would be so kind, to please delete or disregard those
comments.
Many thanks and best wishes,
Iza, Roberto Iza
Muy Señores Míos:
Algunos de nuestros comentarios incluyen vínculos rotos que bien pudieran llevar hoy a una tercera persona. Por tanto, le rogamos, por favor, que los deseche o desestime.
Gracias y recuerdos
Iza, Roberto Iza