Eighty percent of Canadians live within 200km of the US border. The reason they are all huddled down at the bottom is partly because its warmer and partly because they sell cheap beer everywhere in the States. Service stations, corner stores, video shops, anywhere. Of course it is the land of the free, nes pas?
One morning on the way to work, my colleague and I decided this day might be better spent drinking beer than working in a plastics factory for $8/hr. Our dilemma: where to purchase beer at 7am? The United States Of America, of course –it’s ALWAYS open! So we got the old Corolla rattling south and in about an hour we were at the border where we were waved through with nary a glance. We were quite pleased with the operation so far.
We stopped at the first service station we came across and bought 24 bottles of Canadian beer for ½ the price it costs in Canada (no tax). I grabbed a pack of Canadian cigarettes and some fuel, and we were headed back north in a jiffy. When we reached the border the nice man asked “How long were you in the US?”. We told him about 40 minutes. He looked at the rusty car, two guys in grubby work clothes and asked “Buy anything?”. We said yes, beer and fuel, and gave him the receipts. “Anything else?” Nope. He pointed to the pack of cigarettes in my shirt pocket and asked to see it. It had tiny writing that said “not for sale within Canada” – meaning it was declarable. Shit.
He motioned us to pull into a holding area. He sent me inside to renounce my smuggling ways, where they fined me $50 then charged me double duty on everything I’d bought. So the beer now cost twice as much as in Canada but I wasn’t going to lose it now, damn it. When I got outside after an hour I find my colleague still putting the car back together, after they’d trashed it looking for further contraband. I paid $200 for that car, so I wasn’t too fussed.
By the time we got back to Vancouver it was after 11am, beer was on sale, but that’s not the point. The point was giving the finger to the man*, the man that said $8/hr was a decent wage and that I can't decide when I want to buy beer, that man.
That was important to me then. Now I just ignore the man best I can.
*use of the term “the man” does not make me a hippy, I just dig the lingo.
One morning on the way to work, my colleague and I decided this day might be better spent drinking beer than working in a plastics factory for $8/hr. Our dilemma: where to purchase beer at 7am? The United States Of America, of course –it’s ALWAYS open! So we got the old Corolla rattling south and in about an hour we were at the border where we were waved through with nary a glance. We were quite pleased with the operation so far.
We stopped at the first service station we came across and bought 24 bottles of Canadian beer for ½ the price it costs in Canada (no tax). I grabbed a pack of Canadian cigarettes and some fuel, and we were headed back north in a jiffy. When we reached the border the nice man asked “How long were you in the US?”. We told him about 40 minutes. He looked at the rusty car, two guys in grubby work clothes and asked “Buy anything?”. We said yes, beer and fuel, and gave him the receipts. “Anything else?” Nope. He pointed to the pack of cigarettes in my shirt pocket and asked to see it. It had tiny writing that said “not for sale within Canada” – meaning it was declarable. Shit.
He motioned us to pull into a holding area. He sent me inside to renounce my smuggling ways, where they fined me $50 then charged me double duty on everything I’d bought. So the beer now cost twice as much as in Canada but I wasn’t going to lose it now, damn it. When I got outside after an hour I find my colleague still putting the car back together, after they’d trashed it looking for further contraband. I paid $200 for that car, so I wasn’t too fussed.
By the time we got back to Vancouver it was after 11am, beer was on sale, but that’s not the point. The point was giving the finger to the man*, the man that said $8/hr was a decent wage and that I can't decide when I want to buy beer, that man.
That was important to me then. Now I just ignore the man best I can.
*use of the term “the man” does not make me a hippy, I just dig the lingo.
3 comments:
That'll learn you for taking advantage of those kind hearted Americans.
This is a Top Post. Excellent. Did they bring out the sniffer dogs?
i went to canada last year
there were no hassles going in, comming our i was searched throughly.
the guy was digging through my sweat soaked monkey huggers and laying all my gear out on the table.
i did learn that canadians are not all nice. esspecailly when you ask for a hug while getting probed by the metal detector
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