Canadian Egg Saga

I had to deliver important documents to my friends in Toronto this weekend, so I had a little adventure of a road trip again. This time, luckily, it didn't involve bad weather.

I drove to Canada on Friday and we had a fabulous day at a 24-hour Asian spa yesterday (that should be a separate story in the Viva community), which was much needed for me as my work load is absolutely crazy this semester. It was nice to catch up with my friends as well.

So, today I left in the morning to get back to Pennsylvania and prepare for my classes tomorrow. Whenever I am in Canada, I try to stock up on Canadian honey and snacks at Costco in the Niagara Falls. Fun fact: There are no Costco stores anywhere in the Buffalo area, so when I shop at Niagara Falls Costco I see a lot of cars with the New York and Pennsylvania plates.

I got everything on my regular list and then decided to check the Dairy Section for eggs. Surprisingly, they had no shortage or limitations on how many cartons of eggs you could buy. At the price of $10.79 Canadian (~$7.50 US) for 2.5 dozen (30 eggs), which makes it $3 US/dozen, it was a steal. So I got one carton of eggs shown in the story cover pic.

I got to the Peace Bridge border check point at about 1 pm and thought it would be a breeze: there were not too many cars, the line seemed to move fast, and in my lane it took about a minute per car. And I'm coming home, after all.

It took about 15 minutes to produce my face and passport to the US Customs Officer. After asking standard questions about for how long and why I went to Canada, he asked me if I did any grocery shopping.

"Yes, I stopped at Costco in Niagara Falls," I responded honestly.

His eyes sparked. Recognition? Does he also go shopping there with his wife when he is off duty? I would never know. "What did you buy there?"

"Some snacks, fruit and eggs," I said and smiled, hoping he'd get my telepathic joke about me smuggling Canadian eggs.

The spark died. "Eggs?" he asked sternly, typing furiously on his keyboard. "How many?"

"Just one carton," I replied. My smile fainted away as he put my passport into a special pouch.

"You'll have to go through an inspection," he said, "you've been randomly picked by the computer. Turn right here and you'll see a policeman who will show you to the parking lot. You'll get your passport back there after the inspection."

"Sure, officer," I said and the feeling of doom washed over me. Bye, Canadian eggs, and of course it's purely random.

"Lane 17, spot inspection needed," he said into his pocket radio and showed me to drive away.

I turned right and saw an officer next to a police car waving at me to drive there. I parked where he showed and came out of the car. A customs officer emerged out of the building and verified my name.

"Open your trunk, please," he said dryly. I obeyed. The eggs were right there, sitting on top of my Costco purchases. The officer's eyes sparkled like he was the cartoon chipmunk (forgot his name) who saw cheese.

He walked around my car, looked into the trunk again and said, "How long were you in Canada for?"

"Just the weekend," I answered.

"And do you always travel with three suitcases for two days?"

My friends asked me to take two suitcases of their belongings with me as they will be moving to the US in a couple of months. It was mostly their documents and personal things they won't need between now and then.

"It's just some personal stuff," I said.

"You wouldn't mind opening them for me, would you?"

OMG, he must be thinking I'm smuggling something to the US!

"Of course not, if it is absolutely necessary," I said, mustering maximum confidence.

"Alright, go to Door #2 and wait there," the officer said. "You'll get your passport there."

I went inside and sat in the waiting area. Lots of people there, and I noticed that many of them were dark skinned South Asians (if I heard them speak I could probably tell if they were from India or Pakistan). Some Chinese and Vietnamese names were also called out while I was waiting and texting with my Toronto friend who was absolutely horrified I'd been stopped for the inspection. Random selection my ass - I was the only white woman in the waiting room.

Finally, in about 20 minutes the same customs officer who asked me about my suitcases came in and called my name.

I came up to him and he asked, "Would you like to deliver your eggs to your friends in Toronto?"

???

"Otherwise we will have to confiscate and throw them away," he explained, seeing my confusion.

"It's a two-hour drive one way, and I have to be back in Pennsylvania by 5 pm. So, no, sir." I said.

He said something about eggs and other bird-related food products, as well as tropical fruits (I bought a package of nectarines from South Africa) and some other Canadian animal products (my honey???? no, not my Canadian honey!!!) banned from entering the US because of some pathogens. I just nod and smile, what else can I do? He holds my passport. Literally.

"What is your country of citizenship?" he finally asked, holding my blue US passport in front of my face.

Is this an idiot test? I am about to burst out laughing, thinking I'm back in the land of the absurd. Suppressing the urge, I say, "The United States."

"I mean, your country of birth," he says, embarrassed a little.

"Isn't it indicated in my passport?" I say. Can't help myself, once a teacher always a teacher.

"Yes, but I'd like you to pronounce it. It's a hard name," he says.

"KYR-GYZ-STAN," I say slowly, syllable by syllable, with the guttural 'k,' 'y' and 'g' and rolling 'r,' just like it would sound in Kyrgyz.

Impressed, he gave me back my passport and I went to my car. I checked the trunk and the eggs were gone. The honey was still there, however. When I started the car, I noticed that mysteriously, a plastic bag with garbage - snack wrappers, nectarine pits, and such - was gone from the leg space of the front passenger seat. Thank you for your service, officer?

Author’s Note: an absurdist version of this story placed me in a challenge: