Thursday, 07 August 2008

• American Customs

  Having spent a great three days with the family visiting my brother in Montreal, we finally had to leave that little slice of francophone heaven this morning.   Our van pulled out of that right-sized cosmopolitan burg filled with the smell of fresh baguettes, gathered from the boulangerie half a block from mon frere's place.  Before me was around eleven hours of van piloting...depending on traffic and sundry stops.  The hope and the goal was to make the journey in one long day, which would give us a day to do laundry and chill before heading up to the beach on Saturday.
  
  We cruised out of Montreal "traffic" with no problem, and hopped onto the road headed south.  The next possible choke point: The U.S. Border.  The last time we made the trip down from Canada was 1996, which was well pre-Homeland Security Department...so we weren't sure what to expect.  Getting into Canada had taken all of two minutes, but I had a feeling that things might be different on the flipside. 
  
  My hope was that the whole mess wouldn't take more than twenty minutes.
  
  We arrived at the border, and were pleased to see barely any line at all at the crossing.  Wow.  Maybe this wouldn't take much time at all.  We watched as the car two in front of us went through in three minutes.  The car one in front went through in two minutes, and the border guard waved us forward.  Cool. 
  
  It's our family custom to give a cheer (Hip-hip  HOORAY!) whenever we cross a state border as we travel across America.  So with a crossing just moments away, we reminded our kids that we had to do a double-cheer as soon as we were through customs and back in the States. 
  
  We pulled up, handed over the passports for us and the kids, and the pleasantly efficient guard began asking us a series of expected questions about where we'd been and where we were going.  He confirmed my wife's identity, and input her information into the computer.  He confirmed my information, and input my information.  He was just about to ask another question when a claxon began going off in his display.   His brow furrowed.
  
  "Have you ever had any issues with border crossings, sir," asked he.  I answered that I hadn't, wondering at the intent of the question.
  
  "Could you please step outside of the vehicle?"  I did, anticipating more questions or perhaps a search of the van.  Drat.  This was going to take longer.  As I did so, another guard arrived.  And another.  And another.  They looked intent and ever-so-slightly stressed.   Not generally a good sign.
  
  "Please place your hands on the van, sir."  I did, and was quickly and vigorously frisked.  More anxious looking officers arrived, until there were perhaps eight around the vehicle. 
  
  "Hands behind your back."  The cuffs went on, and then two officers took me by both arms firmly (but not painfully) and led me with equal firmness away towards a nearby building as my baffled and distressed wife and bemused and entertained children looked on from the van.  I remained placid and cooperative.  In my experience, it's always better to be calm, polite, and at ease around law enforcement.  They are, after all, human beings with unbelievably stressful jobs.  Adding to that stress can be...counterproductive.
  
  I was taken into the building, past a few families who were having their vehicles searched, and over back to a holding cell, where I was handcuffed to a bench and told to wait.  A few moments passed.
  
  After a short wait, a guard came in, followed by another.  Both seemed concerned with my well being, which I took to be a sign that somewhere, someone had realized that perhaps the System hadn't served up the minivan-driving-supervillain-minister it thought it had.  I chatted and joked with them, and they indicated that this was likely a mismatch of my very-common name with someone who had an outstanding warrant, and that it wouldn't take more than a few minutes.  It didn't.
  
  As I was not the "David Williams" with outstanding violent felony warrants that the System had indicated, I was gently detached from my bench and apologetically returned to my family.  When I asked how we might avoid this sort of thing in future, the polite border guard who'd been talking with my wife told me that they really didn't have any control over what the system told them.  "We get those alerts from another agency," he said, with genuine regret.  "We can't change them."
  
  We retrieved our van, which had been thoroughly ransacked in a just-following-protocol search for drugs or guns or explosives or contraband monkey-heads, and headed on our way.
  
  About two hours later, as we made our way through the gorgeous and misty Adirondacks, my wife remembered that we'd forgotten to do the customary family cheer as we crossed the border.
  
  Oopsie.
  
  

  • 10:01 PM
  • 259 Views
  • 14 eProps
  • 8 Comments