Crossing the Line

By Pamela Goldstein

The Americans are our best friends, whether we like it or not.

~Robert Thompson

For years Canadians and Americans have crossed the International Windsor/Detroit border with no problem. The two cities have always felt more like family than neighbours. When my daughter, Miriam, took dancing lessons in Michigan I knew the names of the Customs officers, the names of their kids, and they knew us. A talk with a Customs officer went like this:

Customs officer: "You're wearing your pretty pink leotard. You must be going to dance class tonight."

Miriam: "I'm learning the Dance of the Cygnets!"

Officer: "Cygnet, huh?" Then he would turn to me. "Anything coming in?"

"No, sir."

Officer: "All right, you're set to go. Have a good class, sweetie."

Yup, we were very friendly.

Then the unthinkable happened. September 11th.

Because Ambassador Bridge is part of the NAFTA Superhighway and thousands of trucks cross it every day, no one got into the U.S. without an intense interrogation and scrutiny of the vehicle. It was a minimum wait of four hours to cross the border.

The people of Windsor and Detroit stopped crossing the border unless it was an absolute emergency. For my daughter, it meant the end of dance classes. For many Canadians and Michiganders it meant the end of careers.

Customs officers had an almost impossible job to do. Happy talks about dance class were replaced with terse and probing questions.

To add even more tension, several members of Hezbollah and Hamas openly declared that they were in the Windsor/Detroit area. No one disagreed with how border crossings were being handled. Inconvenience hardly seemed too steep a price to pay for security and peace of mind.

Thankfully, we have not had a major incident here. Canadians and Americans cross the border again, but it's not like pre-9/11 days. It has turned into a surreal gauntlet of bureaucratic red tape. Here's what happened recently...

"Okay, you're ready to go. Have a good time shopping," said the U.S. Customs officer after handing back our passports. We knew each other from Miriam's dancing days and I had told him about my excitement at receiving a Macy's credit card.

"It looks like a great day to use that card of yours," he said.

He suddenly held up his hand. "Uhhh, wait. You have to go in for a random agricultural survey. Should only take a couple of minutes."

Miriam worried as I drove to the inspection area. "This never goes well," she groused. "Something always goes wrong."

"Not always," I said as I parked. "Remember that time we went to Henry Ford Museum? It only took ten minutes."

"Yeah," said Miriam. "But they took our cookies. We had bananas in them. And when I was in the Nutcracker with the Detroit Symphony they accused you of child slavery and threatened to take me away. That was in '97, Mom. Before 9/11. Imagine what's gonna happen now."

I sighed while waiting for a burly officer to further direct us. "We got through, Miriam. And we haven't had any problems like that since then."

"Except for right after 9/11 when the National Guard pointed their guns at us while they stripped the car. If I hadn't started to cry they would have arrested us. My adolescence would have been spent in jail!"

"You're being melodramatic."

"No I'm not. I had to stop taking dance lessons in Detroit."

"Ma'am, you and your passenger step out of the car."

I felt relieved that I didn't have to get into the "dancing career was ruined" discussion for the billionth time. "Sure thing," I said.

Once outside the car, Officer Burly looked in my purse.

"Are you bringing any horses or cattle into the country today, ma'am?"

I nearly choked. "You're kidding, right? I'm driving a Honda."

Officer Burly didn't crack a smile. "Answer the question."

"No," I said. "No horses or cows, today."

"Where would we put them?" asked Miriam.

Officer Burly grunted with annoyance. "Any sheep, goats, or pigs?"

"Come on," I said. "This is a joke, right?"

"Turkeys, chickens, or any kind of fowl?"

"No," I said more seriously. Officer Burly had a snarl on his face. Every Canadian who has crossed the border since 9/11 knows to never mess with the guy wearing that snarl.

"I have to search your car. Follow that yellow line inside the building and register. I'll get you when I'm done."

"Fine," I said.

"Follow the yellow brick road," sang Miriam.

"That's not funny!" shouted Burly.

"I thought it was funny," said Miriam with an indignant air. "Didn't you think it was funny?"

"No," I muttered.

We hurried into the Inspections building. "I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," said Miriam.

"Quiet, brat."

We headed for a man sitting behind a desk. "Hi," I said. "We're here for an agricultural survey." I read the scribble on the yellow paper. The agr looked more like age.

"Looks like AGE, don't you think?" I said.

The man chortled. "It does, but it's agricultural. Just sign in here. It won't take long, I hope."

"Thanks for the warning," I said.

Another officer approached us. "I'm the head of the Agricultural Department, if you'll sit over there — "

Officer Burly charged into the room just then, brandishing a puppy biscuit in his hand as if it were a kilo of heroin. "You have a dog biscuit in your car!"

"Yeah," I replied. "I have puppies. Obviously, one of them dropped a biscuit."

"They're not in the car. Where are they?"

"I keep the biscuits at — "

"Not the biscuits," he snapped. "The dogs!"

"Oh. At my home."

"Why aren't they with you?" said Burly.

"I don't bring dogs shopping," I said.

Burly pondered this for a moment and then narrowed his eyes. "I'm stripping the car. Sit down."

Miriam groaned. "Aw, man! I'm naming him Krupke."

"Easy, Action," I said.

The head of the Agricultural Department cleared his throat. "Come with me."

"He didn't smile at the Krupke thing," humphed Miriam. "Maybe I'm not funny. I thought I was."

"They'll take care of you in here," he said.

I smiled at an officer while pointing at the writing. "I want to complain about this agr survey you're doing. Since when can't a lady cross the border to go shopping? Doesn't it mean anything that I have a brand new Macy's card I want to use? Macy's! That's almost as good as having an American Social Security card."

"And you guys owe us some cookies," Miriam averred.

The officer raised an eyebrow and Miriam mumbled something under her breath that sounded like "Completely unappreciated..."

The officer stamped my yellow paper and handed it back to me. "Go use that Macy's card. My wife thinks a Macy's card is better than a Social Security card."

After we bid farewell to Krupke, Miriam sighed. "It took us two hours to cross the border. If people had any sense, we'd act as if nothing ever happened on 9/11. We'd show terrorists we're not afraid."

Sometimes pearls of wisdom come from the mouths of babes.

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