Stories from Customs
So, on the way to Canada, we had to go through Customs. We were greeted by a very dashing looking Customs lady who wanted to search our luggage. She did so, with help from her other lady Customs person. They were going through our clothes and asking the same questions in different ways (sort of like a border crossing Meyer's Briggs test). After the awkward moment of opening the SonicCare travel cases (lord only knows what she thought we had in there) they came across our rings, which they agreed were lovely.
We were very glad we did laundry at Lisa's the night before we got on the train. Few things worse than having some nice lady pawing through dirty laundry.
At the next table was a very quiet young man who was also having his bag searched. He didn't speak English very well, and the Custom's guy working with him was doing the whole "why were you in the states? for how long?" treatment. Apparently, he had a lot of women's clothes in his bag.
"Why do you have these women's clothes in your bag?"
"They are my sister's."
"There's like two weeks worth of women's clothes here, sir. Why are you carrying all of these for your sister?"
I mean, ok, so I can see you don't want to just bust out and say you're a cross dresser or drag queen, but really, it's Canada. It'll be ok.
On the way home, US Customs just kind of waved us through. D went first (we were not allowed to fill out one form going that way, as we were going in to Canada. After all, we're not an "American" family). He says, "why were you in Vancouver?"
"I got married!"
"Whodidya get married to?"
She points, I smile and wave, he passes her on through, then on to me with little more notice. Which was nice, as at least he was less snotty than the Canadian guy harrassing the drag queen.
We were very glad we did laundry at Lisa's the night before we got on the train. Few things worse than having some nice lady pawing through dirty laundry.
At the next table was a very quiet young man who was also having his bag searched. He didn't speak English very well, and the Custom's guy working with him was doing the whole "why were you in the states? for how long?" treatment. Apparently, he had a lot of women's clothes in his bag.
"Why do you have these women's clothes in your bag?"
"They are my sister's."
"There's like two weeks worth of women's clothes here, sir. Why are you carrying all of these for your sister?"
I mean, ok, so I can see you don't want to just bust out and say you're a cross dresser or drag queen, but really, it's Canada. It'll be ok.
On the way home, US Customs just kind of waved us through. D went first (we were not allowed to fill out one form going that way, as we were going in to Canada. After all, we're not an "American" family). He says, "why were you in Vancouver?"
"I got married!"
"Whodidya get married to?"
She points, I smile and wave, he passes her on through, then on to me with little more notice. Which was nice, as at least he was less snotty than the Canadian guy harrassing the drag queen.