Let me preface this note by saying I think I deserve a bit of slack in this situation and here's why.
Let's say you were to spend endless hours driving a car in which the people navigating were constantly shouting things like "Go left! No! Right! Right! Follow the finger!! Follow the finger!!!" and " Make a U-Turn!" "Why did you make a U-Turn?" and "I just saw my life flash before my eyes!" Trust me you would be just as frazzled and constantly confused as I was. Now this isn't an excuse. I know, I know, perhaps just as John tells me everyday, I am actually a blonde.
That being said, here's what happened. So we're driving up to the Canadian border, just minutes away from the states, 'Party in the USA' is all cued up on the radio, when I turn into border patrol and kind of miss the sign that says "Wait here until clear" (those Canadians love to rhyme, eh?) Well I stop half way between "Wait here until clear" and a stop sign. I figure instead of looking like an idiot and reversing, I'll just wait where I am and "hope I made the right decision." Wrong Decision. An angry Canadian patrol man, (we'll from now on refer to him as 'Gaston' at the suggestion of one of my asm's after I asked her what an intimidating sounding man's name was), Gaston comes out of the patrol booth and knocks on my window and half demands/half yells "Reverse and read the sign." So I quiver and reverse back to the sign. "Wait here until clear." Well now it's all clear, but now I'm absolutely terrified of the patrol man, Gaston. I inch the car up to the stop sign and I wait. I wait at the stop sign for a while because I'm not sure how long I'm supposed to wait and I don't want to be yelled at again, because now I'm scared. Gaston steps out of his booth again and knocks on my window and half says/half yells "it says 'Stop' not 'Park'." "Oh dear God" I'm thinking. So I pull up to the patrol window and now I'm just really nervous and when I'm nervous I laugh and say really dumb things so now I'm afraid I'm going to say dumb things and that makes me even more nervous even though we have absolutely nothing to hide except for my bad driving skills. Gaston takes our passports and starts barking questions at us. "Where are you from?!" "Where do you live?!" "How do you know each other?!" "Why is there an old man in your car?!?" Then he tells me to pop the trunk and I do. Then he yells "Why do you have BEARS in the back of your car?!" He is referring to the stuffed animal bears in the back of my car to which I respond "They're from the zoo! They all have names! My Dad used to buy them for us as kids" I ramble on and on about the bears and I start listing off the names which prompts Gaston to go back into his booth and slide the heavy metal door closed. I guess he didn't care to hear the tiger's name, Tina or the black bear, Cody.
Gaston comes out of the booth and tells me to park. And then he tells me instead to turn the car back on and follow the man in front of me. So I follow the man with my car and we all get out of the car and into the border patrol station. I turn to my friends and say "we're a random search!" to which one of them responds "No Katie, they think we're on drugs because you suck at driving."
Then one of the border patrol men inside the station yells something that sounds like "I need the tallest person over here." So I say "the tallest?" And he says "No, I need the leader of the group, is that you? You're the shortest!" Yes sir, thank you for pointing out the obvious. I'm short. Not only do Canadians rhyme, but they are sharp as a tack.
Anyway this man asks me a million questions just like Gaston. "Where are you from?" "Whats your major?" "Why is that your major?" (Good question, I respond) "What are you youngin's doing traveling around with an old guy?" (We're all the same age.) Eventually he goes "alright you guys can leave."
We all get into the car and we are dead silent. We take a few breaths and then we finally drive over into the states. It's finally time to play some 'Party in the USA.'
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