Hello readers! I want to tell you a story. Over the gorgeous weekend, me and this lucky gal ;-) went over to Canada just for kicks. I parked my car on the American side because I didn't want to get my car deported, denied, or searched. We walked across the Rainbow Bridge, pausing for a second to jump back and forth between the boundary line (tradition my friends), and stepped into the customs room. While walking across the bridge, Ashley let me know that she had her prescription pain medication on her; she forgot to leave it in the car. So we were running the risk of Canada thinking we were drug traffickers(something I avoided by leaving my car in America...waaadduppp). So we walked into the building, I handed the man my passport, he looked at the picture and glanced at me. "Where are you going today," he said. "Just staying here in Ontario, sight seeing," I said with boasting confidence. After that 25 seconds, he let me pass and onto Canada we were. I need to take this time to tell you my tradition. I've been doing it since I could remember. Every time I enter Canada, I sing the Canadian National Anthem even if there are a million people around me. Don't ask me why, I just always do it. (I guess it would be a little funnier if I sang the American National Anthem in Canada...hmm something to ponder over some Ice Hockey and a slice of PizzaPizza, all washed down with a shot of Maple syrup)
After about 2 hours of wandering aimlessly throughout Clifton Hill, and me actually seriously pondering getting a tattoo :-O, we decided we should go back and walk around in our native country. I mean if we were to stay any longer, we might have ingested a lethal dose of SARS, so it was probably best if we left. On our way back we crossed over the bridge, I danced a few more times on the border line, and we walked into the American Customs building. We walked up to the ridiculously grumpy officer and handed him our passports. He scanned them, looked at us, and let us go without any question. All seemed to be fine; we had a fun day, we passed both Customs inspections and we were in America again.
But readers, I warn you, my day took a sick and twisted emotional 180. After passing through Customs, we walked into this tunnel-like room, and there sitting in the way of our homeland were 3 turnstiles. That is when it hit me like a piece of debris falling from the burning Twin Towers (ehhh...sorry...too soon?): It costs 50 cents to get back into the country I was born in! What the hell is wrong with that picture?! Mind you...America showed a bit of compassion. Even though the American quarter is worth sooooo much more than the Canadian quarter, the turnstiles gave you the option of using either currency for "Our convenience". But never the less, we were forced to put in $.50 per person to get back into our country. Only in America, right Mr. Benedetti?
All of this begs one question....What if you had no quarters on you? Ahh, America thinks of everything; The machine next to the turnstiles provided the opportunity to put in a $1, or $5 bill for quarters, but it wouldn't allow for anything more than $5. So what if I only had a $20 bill on me with no change at all in my pocket? Would I not be allowed back into the country? Would I have to sit in that 6x12 room until someone was kind enough to pay my way in?(yeah, never mind, America doesn't think of everything). I checked, and the door you walked through to get into that jail cell of a room locks right behind you. Although, if it didn't, I'm sure one of those really nice, outgoing, and generous customs officers would be more than happy to loan you $.50 of their "hard earned" money.
Good day my faithful readers
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