We expected to be waved right in. From what I had seen in the movies and heard from friends that had been to Canada before, all we had to do at the border was show our IDs, and we would be off. It seemed easy enough.

But things are seldom as easy as they seem.

We were at the border of Quebec. French Canadians are notorious for being complete assholes to Americans as it is. We hadn't anticipated just how much trouble they would give us.

The border guard asked to see some ID. Bjorn gave him his driver's license, the Assmaster gave his non-driver ID, Jason gave his learner's permit, and I gave my military ID. The guard looked at our ID's and asked in the most outrageous Pink-Pantheresque accent,

"So how long do you plan to spend in Canada?"

"A couple of hours."

Bjorn responded.

"I see..." responded our Inspector Clouseau, "and where do you plan to go?"

"Montreal." Bjorn replied.

"I see....." responded the guard. "Pull over to the side of the road and wait for a customs agent."

That was it. We knew we were in deep shit. It was only then that we realized how foolish our story sounded. We planned on spending a couple of hours in Canada, but Montreal was a few hours from the border. There was only one explanation in the minds of the customs agents at that border station, these crazy Americans were up to no good.

The border guard told us to pull over on the side of the road and wait for a customs agent. We all became nervous at this point. We figured something had to be wrong because in all the movies we had seen and stories we had heard from friends, an American should just be asked for ID at the border and allowed to pass into Canada with no problem.

So we pulled over and waited for a customs agent. The agent told us to get out of the car and wait inside the border station. We did as she instructed and entered the border station.

We got inside the station and were immediately confronted by another agent. He took our ID cards and asked us:

"Have any of you ever stood before a judge before?"

We all answered "No", because we hadn't, or at least most of us hadn't. The Assmaster had, but it was before he turned 18. He had answered "No" because he heard that it had been taken off his record when he turned 18. Also, we didn't actually expect them to do a background check on us. Unfortunately for us, they did.

They called the Assmaster into a back room. He returned almost immediately. He had a look on his face as if he had seen a ghost.

"They're not letting us into Canada." He said.

"What did they say to you?" We asked.

"They know about my past offenses." he said. "I don't know how they do, but they do. They told me they won't let me into the country because I lied to a custom's agent."

We waited for about another half hour before we were confronted by another customs agent. She asked us who the owner of the vehicle was. Bjorn told her that it was his car. She asked him to follow her, and they left the station and walked over to his car. While Bjorn was talking to the Agent, I managed to snap a couple of pictures of what was going on:

After Bjorn returned, he described the conversation he had with the agent to us. Here's what happened according to him:

She walked him over to the car, and opened the driver side door. She looked around the inside of the car, and noticed a muddy sweatshirt on the floor in the back seat of the car. She asked him why the sweatshirt was full of mud.

"My muffler came loose while we were driving, so I climbed under the car to try to tie it back up." He responded.

She looked underneath the car.

"But there are no mufflers on this car." She said to Bjorn.

"Well, I couldn't tie up my muffler, so I had to saw it off."

"You can get a ticket for driving in Canada without a muffler." She said to him.

"So," He said, "I can get a ticket in the US for that, what's your point?"

Frustrated, she walked over to the trunk. He opened the trunk for her. She was astonished at what she saw inside.

Jason, the Assmaster, and I laughed hysterically inside the station as we watched her take out a black and white television set, and huge stereo speaker (both designed for home use), the hacksaw, a single golf club, and about 20 empty spraypaint cans.

Allow me to explain these items:

The hacksaw was obvious. We used it to saw off the muffler.

The huge stereo speaker: Bjorn had taken it off his stereo system in his apartment and planned on hooking it up to his car stereo. I don't remember whether or not he ever did hook it up.

The TV set: I'm sure even Bjorn dosen't know exactly why he used to carry that around, considering he had to plug it into an AC outlet to watch it.

Now the golf club and the empty spray cans go together: Bjorn had the empty spray cans because he painted a mural for the school. He decided to hold onto the empty cans for some unknown reason. After school, him and I would sometimes line up a bunch of these cans on the hill across the street from our old high school, and launch them at the school building with the golf club. This is why the tip of the club was painted pink. One of the cans had exploded when he hit it, and pink paint sprayed everywhere, covering the end of the club, as well as the sidewalk.

After Bjorn had gone back into the station, the agents brought a dog over to the car. The dog climed into the car and started sniffing around the interior. Bjorn got very upset because he was worried that the dog would further ruin the torn leather interior. The dog climbed into the trunk and sniffed around there as well. Lastly, the agents opened the hood of the car. The dog climbed in and began to sniff the engine. The agents became very upset when the dog didn't find anything.

We sat and waited for a little while longer. Eventually one of the agents called Bjorn over. They took him into a back room. He was gone for about ten minutes. When he came back, they made him sit on the other side of the room from us. They then called Jason. He was also gone for about ten minutes. When he came back, they made him sit next to Bjorn. The then called me into the back room.

It was a tiny room about the size of a walk-in closet with a small bench. There were two customs agents, one male and one female. The female agent sat on the bench with a clipboard. The male agent instructed me to take off my shirt and my shoes and empty my pockets on the bench. He told me to turn around and lean foward with my hands against the wall. He felt over my entire body, and even stuck his hand down my pants, searching for God knows what. While he was doing this, the female agent was searching through my walet, shoes, and my jacket. When they were done, the woman checked something off on the clipboard, and they watched me as I dressed myself. The escorted me out and told me to sit next to Bjorn and Jason.

After they had finished frisking all of us, they Instructed us to sit where we were originally sitting.

We sat by the window for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually another customs agent, one I hadn't seen before, came over to us and asked us in a voice that could only have belonged to a cartoon character:

"You guys don't have any drugs on you, do you?"

We all answered no.

"If you do, you should tell us. You'll be in less trouble than if we find it ourselves."

We swore to him that we had no drugs on us.

"You guys didn't do any just before trying to cross the border, did you?"

To this we all answered no as well.

"If I have the dog sniff you guys, he won't find any residue?"

The way he said the word "residue" almost made me laugh out loud.

We almost No'd him to death, and he finally left us alone. He disappeared into a back room with a few more customs agents.

We then waited some more.

Finally, another agent came out of the room with four sheets of paper. He came over to us and gestured for us to follow him. We followed him outside.

This agent spoke almost no English.

He handed the papers to us, pointed to a sign that read "To US" and said to us:

"You go that way."

We looked at the papers that he had handed to us.

The papers were all identical. They stated that allowing us into Canada would be in violation of immigration laws. We were officially kicked out of Canada.

Before we could get into any more trouble, we all piled into Bjorn's car and headed for the border.

We approached the US border. The US customs agent was much more friendly than the Canadian one. He simply asked us how long we had been in Canada. We told him that we had only been there for a few hours. Upon hearing this, he became suspicious. He asked what we did in Canada for such a short period of time. We told him that we hadn't done anything, and that we hadn't made it past customs. We showed him the papers that the Canadian customs agents had given us.

He looked these papers over and asked:

"Do you boys have any form of ID?"

So we gave him out ID cards.

He looked them over, and asked:

"Are all you boys in the service?"

I answered:

"No, just me."

He gave us all a stern look and said:

"Why don't you boys pull over by the station there and wait for a customs agent."

Now American customs agents are much more intimidating that Canadian customs agents. Canadian customs agents wear jeans, a white turtle neck sweater, and an small pin of the Canadian flag. US customs agents, on the other hand, wear military-like uniforms and cary guns.

As we pulled over in front of the station, our car was immediately surrounded by US customs agents, all armed with pistols. One of the agents had an attack dog. They asked us to get out of the vehicle and wait inside the station. Everyone got out of the car, but at the last moment, Bjorn dove back into the car and reached over the seat to try to open the passenger side door for the agents outside.

The agents misunderstood what was going on, and began yelling at him to get out of the car and keep his hands where they could see them.

This caused him to panic, and try even more frantically to get the door open.

I saw that the agents had their hands on their pistol holsters. I reached into the car and grabbed Bjorn by the collar and yanked him out. We all then proceeded to the border station.

We filled out all kinds of claims and forms inside the border station. At one point, one of the customs agents got into Bjorn's car and drove it as fast as he possibly could into a parking spot in front of the station. This 5 second long joy-ride took place, of course, after the agents searched the entire vehicle and had a narcotics dog do a little dance on the upholstery. Bjorn was not happy with this at all.

After a few mins, a customs agent approached me with our ID cards.

"How long have you been in the service?" He asked me.

"Since July." I answered.

"My son is joining the Navy. He's really excited about it."

The agent then took a form from me while I was only about halfway done filling it out. He then snatched the forms from the two Jasons and Bjorn.

"I'll take care of these. You boys are free to go."

And we were free to go. So we left.

After a couple of miles, we decided we needed cigarettes. We stopped at the first gas station we saw. Bjorn hobbled his way through the front door, and returned very shortly thereafter.

"I don't have any money. The only cigarettes I can afford are 'Farmer Joe's Hog Ass'"

The Jasons and myself were completely unaware that such a brand of cigarettes exists. We were not suprised to find that they actually don't. We found Bjorn's statement almost as amusing as the exchange that had taken place earlier between Bjorn and the Assmaster regarding Canadian women. Here's what they said:

Bjorn: I went down on a Canadian chick once.

Assmaster: Did she taste like maple?

Along the way, we stopped at one rest area to call Jay collect. He was happy to hear that we were safe, and that we made it, but he was not thrilled that we called him collect. At least we had the courtesy to call him using 1-800-COLLECT and save him money.

We stopped at another rest area and were shocked to see the following:

The rest of the trip consisted of lots of driving and sleeping (sometimes at the same time). We made it back to NYC, and parted ways. I heard from a friend that Milena, another friend of ours from Science, was playing at CBGBs that night, so I stopped by to say hi. The show was really nice, and there were a few other people from Science there. Once it was over, I went to my Mother's place to get some rest before heading back to Annapolis. She was furious that I hadn't spent much time with her and my family during that break, but she got over it. The trip was SO worth it.

A few months later, I had a mug made with the third picture from the top of this page. I still have it to this day. I'll post a picture of the picture mug on this page one of these days.

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