This past summer my sweet wife Denyse and I while on vacation drove to Niagara Falls, New York. We spent a great weekend at the falls and made a day trip to that godforsaken Outlet Mall on Military Rd. state side.
The main reason for going was to buy Denyse some bras. Apparently she really likes the ones they sell over there and can’t find the same ones here in Canada. While there she bought six which totaled about 120 U.S.
Problem is, you can’t just visit for a few hours and haul 120 dollars’ worth of anything back, let alone bras.
But that wasn’t all. I went into Old Navy and they had these sweatshirt thingy’s on sale for 3.99. Unbelievable, so I bought five.
And then there was underwear for my son Riley, and just before we left we whipped into the Gap and my wife bought two pairs of Capri pants for 11 dollars each.
This was a lot of stuff for a two hour visit, so we had to plan our strategy for get back across the border. With a little consultation from a clerk at Old Navy, we decided rather than lie completely and say we had nothing, we would claim the cheap things and cram the bras in the trunk underneath the thing that covers the spare tire.
Everything seemed fine as we approached the border – and when I volunteered to the fine gentleman in the booth that I had indeed bought some shirts which amounted to a grand total of 40 dollars he seemed satisfied.
But then it was obvious he was taking too much time and he was scribbling something on a piece of paper. And then he handed it to me. It was a yellow piece of paper, and he told me to pull ahead and make a sharp left and someone would inspect what I had bought.
Shit! What if they look in the trunk? Shit! They were going to find the tit-slings.
I pulled up to the office and I went inside with the sales slips hoping this would be enough, but unfortunately it wasn’t enough. The guy inside told me to wait by the car and someone would come out to have a look at what I had bought.
As I went outside almost directly on my heels was an inspector and even though I opened the back door of the car to show him the bags I had claimed, he had something else in mind, he asked me to open the trunk. Shit! He was going to find the over-shoulder-boulder holders.
At that point my mind scattered. I had never been in this situation before and I didn’t know what was going to happen. If he lifted the spare tire cover what would the consequences be? Would I be arrested? Or was it just a fine? And if it was a fine, how much is the fine? Jesus Christ, why did she need new boobie traps in the first place?
But then, as I opened the trunk, I heard a wonderful thing. “John?” I looked at the inspector and he had a big smile on his face.
“You’re John Lundrigan. aren’t ya”
“Yes” I said.
“Nice to see you again” he said. “What are you up to these days?”
“Not much” I said. In my mind I was thinking, not much besides smuggling lingerie into Canada from the United States.
The inspector was a great guy, gracious and polite. Turns out we went to high school together and after school his family relocated to Erie for his father’s work. He told me he’d been slowly getting back in touch with people from his past, he mentioned he had met a few people from school by working at the border and he was just plain happy I’d stopped by. Then he glanced inside the trunk, but he never lifted the tire cover.
I was a free man, and Denyse escaped with her 12 cups. And I will never “not” declare anything again.
*Portions of the above are fictional to amuse the reader