Saturday, May 06, 2006

FUCK Homeland security.

Note: the following is a rough copy of an on going novella of which much will be hand written and then transcribed to this blog. All events depicted are full of truthiness but should be considered fiction unless otherwise mentioned.


That’s what it must have looked like to the casual observer as I raced down the gates of Montreal’s Dorval International Airport in a frenzied attempt to get my compatriot Philip *** out of American customs and onto his scheduled flight to Los Angeles. I was extremely nervous when I saw US border agents lead him into a small room for questioning while I was sent on my way. “Can I wait for my friend?” I asked a skinny be-speckled immigration cop, the kind that was too frail for actual work and was reduced to rubber stamping Canadians on their trips to Florida rather than accomplishing anything productive in life. The answer was obviously no and I was sent on my way past customs towards my flight without any knowledge of the well being of the only other person I needed to take care of. Miraculously, I managed to establish contact via cell phone 10 minutes later: Phil had been taken to a room with 2 Arab men and an old confused Chinese lady and hadn’t moved an inch. I was worried but also confidant: surely we were upstanding citizens, students of the arts that wanted to patronize their country and contribute to its economic viability. I saw no reason why they’d deny him access and the grilling was probably the result of some unlucky quota of foreign people whom the tough on crime pigs in Washington decided to grill in an attempt to appease the hawkish gas guzzling imperialists into a lull of imaginary safety and very real fear. Sadly I was wrong.

The trip had begun relatively well several hours ago. After completing a final examination on Chairman Mao’s victory in China over the Nationalist GMD government, I headed home in a hurry to find Phil had already arrived and was packed and ready for departure. After some careful planning and packing, things were declared ready for the morning and we rolled a cigarette sized joint in an effort to get to sleep. All preparations had been taken and a few hours later at the ungodly time of 6 AM we got up and made our way to the airport. At the Air Canada booth, no attendants made any sign that anything was wrong and we were told to proceed to US customs as was usual for travelers headed to the United States. Now my views on the Imperial Republican Nation are well known and my hatred for their domination of world affairs is legendary, but it should be said that I do not hold a large part of its ordinary citizens responsible for this as clearly they have been hijacked by the same madmen who are ruining the world as we speak. These US agents were however, clearly the profiteers of the US agenda of fear, using it to latch on to their cushy government jobs while making a mockery of the idea of small government. Shortly into the interview, my friend became incommunicado as they restricted his ability to speak to any form of representation as they asked him a series of unrelated and odd questions: had he ever had trouble at the border? What school was he from? What was the exact address he was staying at in the US? For a country advertising itself as the land of the free, I doubt anyone could have faced more strenuous interrogation in a 1 party communist dictatorship. Ultimately, after 20 minutes of anxiously sipping an orange juice and playing around with the processed garbage I’d bought for breakfast (fuck Burger King), I managed to reach Phil who greeted me with some strikingly bad news:

“I was denied entry to the US by immigration on account of low funds in my account. And they got my citizenship wrong.”


“They say if you vouch for me with your bank statement they’ll let me through.”

From there, my worldview was reduced to chaos.

I ran frantically in an effort to backtrack through US customs only to be met with snarling agents uninterested in seeing me through. Apparently there was no back-rushing the border, an understandable scenario but one that didn’t help me at the time since it involved me running another 500 meter dash in the opposite direction. When I arrived at my gate, I was told there was no chance in hell I’d ever make the plane with Phil and my current options were to take it alone or to get my baggage off the plane and take care of the ensuing ramifications. I thought about it for a minute contacting anyone who I believed might help in such a situation but this was definitely a question to be taken with my gut, not my mind.

“Get my bags off the plane! I can’t make this flight with him!” I yelled in a way that frightened nearby passengers wondering who the unruly Canadian demanding his things were. The flight attendants in charge were sympathetic to my cause but it they made it known that nothing could be done immediately and I’d have to wait until they got my luggage before I could get through Canadian customs and enter a sensible country. Twenty minutes later I did just that and as I chatted with the woman escorting me back to Canadian soil, I was made aware that this was probably a case of an overzealous prick having a bad day and taking it out on a random Asian person. I was not only furious but also incredibly disillusioned about visiting America. They didn’t deserve my money! I vowed not to get another flight on the same day only to repeat the frustrating experience but rather to rearrange my plans and head west on Canadian soil surrounded by peoples who respect both the rule of the law AND values of common courtesy and decency. By the time I made it back to Philip through a series of agents and officials, a pattern became clear: every Canadian was sympathetic and bemused at the sheer randomness of the situation while every American was a growling, bloodthirsty dog of war wanting only the word to throttle us in the name of their crumbling empire. Reunited with Phil, we had our tickets fully credited (baring a slight indemnity) and the arranged to have the money put in a file valid for flights within a year. From then, it was a question of returning home to plan a trip to Toronto to be taken later that night. We had been stopped at the border by overzealous pricks but this would not stop our departure, rather, we’d make our move west directly and avoid any contact with the barbarian scum that lay to the south. Ultimately, our goal was north to the Yukon and any detour to our southern neighbor was simply to enjoy their weather, NOT their culture or lack of it. If anything, we both learned something that day: we saw first hand how the paranoid insecurity of a nation of millions could lead to the slow but steady social isolation of an entire people. Certainly within my lifetime, that country would collapse under its own weight. And if not that, under the weight of its Mexican immigrants, the very ones who jumped the border while the pig in Montreal interrogated my friend on his place of birth.


Blogger K. said...

That fucking sucks! Have a good trip!


8:07 AM  
Blogger Steph said...

it sucks, but is somehow a fitting beginning to your trip. you should still go to the wedding though.
and lay off the Hunter S.
I like you better as Smoove Lesley

12:39 PM  

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