RUN FOR THE BORDER

Canada, despite it's lack of wandering hockey players and lackluster breakfasts, is still a separate country from the United States of America. That means you have to cross the border to enter the country, and that means you have to deal with a border guard. I had heard rumors from my brother, who had been to the Great White North the summer before, that crossing back into the United States was especially trying, as the guards had no qualms about dragging an entire mission trip worth of high school students off of a bus and searching all of them, checking their documentation, making them empty all of their luggage and then forcing them to run a gauntlet versus gladiators Nitro and Gemini.

Knowing this, we were more nervous about crossing back into American than we were about crossing into Canada. I mean, c'mon, it's Canada. How tough could it be? We rolled up to the window to find a shaggy haired Canadian, who was 22 if he was a year, waiting for us.

Canadian Border Guard: Hey there, welcome to Canada, eh? Nice weather today, eh?
Me: Yeah, it's nice.
CBG: You folks up for the week?
Me: Just a couple of days.
CBG: Well look out for the moose, okay? They get pretty big up here.
Me: How about that Wayne Gretzky?
CBG: *wistful sigh* Oh Wayne.
Me: Well, have a good day.
CBG: You too. Say, you want a Molson for the road?

That... was not actually how it went down. The conversation was more like this:

CBG: Where are you going?
Me: Uh, Thunder Bay?
CBG: Where you from?
Me: Um, Wisconsin?
CGB: Country of Origin?
Me: *getting worried* America?
CBG: How long will you be staying?
Me: Three days.
CBG: Why?
Me: *looking to my girlfriend for help* A wedding?
CBG: You got any alcohol or tobacco?
Me: No!
CBG: Firearms?
Me: I just- it's not even my friends!
CBG: Will you be leaving anything in Canada?
Me: A card! Sweet Heavenly Mercy, a card, that's all I swear!
CBG: No gift?
Me: What?
CBG: No gift??
Me: No! The card has money in it!
CBG: Enjoy your visit. *muttered* cheapskate

Two days later we're in line to go back to America, and I'm practically bending the steering wheel I'm so nervous. With the Canadian interrogation still fresh in my mind, I could only imagine how rigorous the American re-entry would be. Would we be asked to step out of the car? Would we be fingerprinted? Strip Searched? Forced to name the last three American Idol winners? The mind boggled. Then I pulled up to the window.

American Border Guard: *bored* Morning.
Me: AMERICA!
ABG: Excuse me?
Me: Nothing.
ABG: Destination.
Me: AMERICA!
ABG: Business in the United States.
Me: Home!
ABG: Driver's license.
Me: *hands over license*
ABG: Wisconsin, huh. How about the Packers.
Me: I don't think they're going to make the playoffs.
ABG: I'm from Wisconsin. Pop your trunk.
Me: Okay... oh, wait, you mean of the car.
ABG: Of course.
Me: *whew*
ABG: Have a good day.

If the Canadian guard had been Captain Intense, then the American guard was Johnny Whatever. He wasn't friendly, and he never changed his voice from a monotone, but he at least engaged us in a semi-conversation. It took me a while, but I think I've figured out why there was a difference between the two men.

In Canada, they train you to be intense. Why? Because that's all they've got. If someone did decided to start something, it would take at least an hour for the Mounties to make it out of Thunder Bay and to the border to help. In America, they can afford to be a little more laid back. Why? Because it's America. If someone so much as breathes wrong at the border an agent can have a battalion of Apache helicopters hovering overhead in the blink of an eye. Heck, we could have a warship launch a missile from Lake Michigan and still pick off any troublemakers.

And besides, if anyone did sneak past our border, what are they going to do? Mess up Minnesota? Have you been to Minnesota? Anything they'd do there would be an improvement.