Before I go any further, I would just like to clarify that I feel immensely lucky to have been able to obtain a job right now, especially one in my field that didn't require a whole lot of effort to get. I'm only typing this in order to explain and record the experience and not to complain about it. Don't get me wrong---I'm often frustrated, stressed and tired doing this everyday, but it is a small price to pay to live with Jeff and have a job at the same time.
Anyways, since I drive over the US-Canada border to get to work, I obviously have to go through customs everyday. Getting into the US has understandably never been a problem, and in fact, the guys (I've not yet encountered any women customs officials on the US side) are beginning to recognize me and even remember why I'm entering the US. I am sort of becoming a "regular," and all the guy asked me when I went through yesterday was "Are you bringing any foreign merchandise with you?" and then just let me through, which is pretty unusual.
Unfortunately for me, going through the Canadian side after work isn't so smooth and can be downright unpleasant. I've ironically never yet gotten the same official twice, which I expect would make things somewhat easier since they'd probably start recognizing me and stop hesitating to let me through. No such luck yet, however. I've found that driving over the border is less strict customswise than flying, but there have been a few instances when I've had to truly defend my intentions for entering the country, which can be quite stressful.
Now, let's first think about what it must be like to go through customs for a hypothetical American family (I'll call them the Joneses) consisting of a mom, dad and two kids, who are entering Canada for recreational purposes:
"Howdy" says Mr. Jones to the customs officer as he hands her his family's passports. Officer Deville smiles and replies "Hi! Where are you lovely folks headed on this beautiful day?"
"We're going to the park for a picnic!" answers little Jane Jones happily.
"How wonderful!" exclaims Officer Deville. "Did you bring some yummy cookies and cake to eat on your picnic?"
"Yeah!" shouts little John Jones from his car seat. "We have apple pie too!"
"Wow! Will you chase butterflies and blow bubbles while you're at the park? I always loved doing that when I was a kid," says Officer Deville.
"Yeah!" yell both children back in unison. Officer Deville smiles and hands back the passports to Mr. Jones. "Have a super day!"
As the Jones family drives away, Deville turns the light from red to green and I approach the window. I say "Hi there." as I hand her my passport. Deville ignores my greeting and begins to scrutinize every page of my passport.
"Where do you live?" she asks in a monotone voice while turning the pages.
"Abbotsford," I reply.
"Where's your visa?" The tone of her voice changes from complacent to suspicious.
"I'm married to a Canadian and going through the immigration process. We sent in the application--"
"Where's your plate registered?" she interrupts before I can explain anything further. As she squints at the monitor that's displaying the back of my car, I tell her Kentucky.
"Why?!" she hostilely demands. Her facial expression becomes that of what I can best describe as a skeptical snob.
"Because I can't register it in BC until I am a permanent resident," I explain. Isn't she aware of the laws she's attempting to enforce?
"Have you sent in your application?" she asks. Didn't I already tell her this? I think to myself. I tell her yes. She looks doubtful.
"You sent in the fingerprints and everything?" like she's making sure I did my homework. I say yes again as she turns back to my passport. Apparently she notices the stamps from when I crossed the border at the airport twice in June and she asks, "What did you tell them at the airport?"
"Er..exactly what I just told you...?" What else would I tell them? I wonder to myself. I have no other reason! Isn't the fact that I'm entering to go live with my husband reason enough!?!?
Deville apparently could not come up with anymore interrogative questions to ask me, nor could she find any good reason to keep me out of Canada. She starts asking me the routine questions at a rapid pace: "Did you buy anything while in the US? Are you bringing in any tobacco or alcohol?" etc. She finally hands me back my passport and says "go ahead" in the same monotone voice with which she began.
I speed away, thanking God that I got through that. I'm all worked up and stressed for the rest of the night (but it was nothing that beer couldn't cure).
Now, the hypothetical story about the Joneses is, of course, a huge exaggeration mainly for satirical purposes; however, what I went through was exactly how it went down (although the name "Deville" was made up. Officers only have a 6 digit number on their uniforms instead of a name tag). To be fair, I have to mention that Deville's attitude and questioning style are the exception to the rule. Many US and Canadian officers, although not usually overly friendly, are not cruel or hostile either. The majority act very respectfully and professionally, and they do their job. Some even break a smile if I tell them something like "Yeah, I can't resist that Canadian charm!" referring to Jeff's charm, of course (hehe).
I imagine it would be much easier and less stressful to enter both countries if my reason for entering was to go chase butterflies or something else fun but meaningless. However, my reason, although not easy to explain to the customs folks, is better. In fact, it is the best reason I think anyone who has entered Canada has ever had. Sure, there must have been thousands who have fought their way into Canada to be with their loved ones, but I fight my way in to be with Jeff, and that is the best reason ever. And if anyone else tries to fight their way through customs to be with Jeff, they'll have to fight their way through me too, and I'll kick their ass. ;)
"Where's your visa?" The tone of her voice changes from complacent to suspicious.
"I'm married to a Canadian and going through the immigration process. We sent in the application--"
"Where's your plate registered?" she interrupts before I can explain anything further. As she squints at the monitor that's displaying the back of my car, I tell her Kentucky.
"Why?!" she hostilely demands. Her facial expression becomes that of what I can best describe as a skeptical snob.
"Because I can't register it in BC until I am a permanent resident," I explain. Isn't she aware of the laws she's attempting to enforce?
"Have you sent in your application?" she asks. Didn't I already tell her this? I think to myself. I tell her yes. She looks doubtful.
"You sent in the fingerprints and everything?" like she's making sure I did my homework. I say yes again as she turns back to my passport. Apparently she notices the stamps from when I crossed the border at the airport twice in June and she asks, "What did you tell them at the airport?"
"Er..exactly what I just told you...?" What else would I tell them? I wonder to myself. I have no other reason! Isn't the fact that I'm entering to go live with my husband reason enough!?!?
Deville apparently could not come up with anymore interrogative questions to ask me, nor could she find any good reason to keep me out of Canada. She starts asking me the routine questions at a rapid pace: "Did you buy anything while in the US? Are you bringing in any tobacco or alcohol?" etc. She finally hands me back my passport and says "go ahead" in the same monotone voice with which she began.
I speed away, thanking God that I got through that. I'm all worked up and stressed for the rest of the night (but it was nothing that beer couldn't cure).
Now, the hypothetical story about the Joneses is, of course, a huge exaggeration mainly for satirical purposes; however, what I went through was exactly how it went down (although the name "Deville" was made up. Officers only have a 6 digit number on their uniforms instead of a name tag). To be fair, I have to mention that Deville's attitude and questioning style are the exception to the rule. Many US and Canadian officers, although not usually overly friendly, are not cruel or hostile either. The majority act very respectfully and professionally, and they do their job. Some even break a smile if I tell them something like "Yeah, I can't resist that Canadian charm!" referring to Jeff's charm, of course (hehe).
I imagine it would be much easier and less stressful to enter both countries if my reason for entering was to go chase butterflies or something else fun but meaningless. However, my reason, although not easy to explain to the customs folks, is better. In fact, it is the best reason I think anyone who has entered Canada has ever had. Sure, there must have been thousands who have fought their way into Canada to be with their loved ones, but I fight my way in to be with Jeff, and that is the best reason ever. And if anyone else tries to fight their way through customs to be with Jeff, they'll have to fight their way through me too, and I'll kick their ass. ;)
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