Mood: :?:

I went through the Aldergrove crossing when I went down to the States and back. Here’s how each encounter went:

Wednesday evening. Two female U.S. border guards were in the box when I got there. The older one was standing, almost looming, and had a stern, piercing look.
Border guard: “Identification please.”
(I handed my driver’s license over)
BG: “Where do you live?”
Me: “Chilliwack”
BG: “Where were you born?”
Me: “Vancouver”
BG: “Why are you entering the States, and for how long?”
Me: “Attending a seminar in Seattle for two days.”
BG, with more intent look: “Are you teaching this seminar?”
Me, remembering how the U.S. government hates foreigners working in their country, taking jobs from them: “Wha–? Oh, no, definitely not. Learning.”
BG: “What is it for?”
Me: “Software testing.”
BG: “What do you do?”
Me: “I…test software…”
BG: “What?”
Me, rethinking how that sounded: “I work with software.”
BG: “Where do you work?”
Me: “(reference removed, since I’ve never mentioned it on this blog), in Abbotsford.”
BG, after her partner looks it up on the computer and giving me back my driver’s license: “Okay, go on through.”
Me: “Whew.”

Return trip, Friday evening. A lone guard manned the box. He was reading a book and his feet were up.
Border guard: “Where do you live?”
Me: “Chilliwack”
BG: “How long have you been gone?”
Me: “Two days.”
BG: “Value of goods purchased?”
Me: “Nothing.”
BG, returning to his book: “Drive on through.”
Me, still holding my driver’s license because he never asked for it: “Uh…thanks!” (vroom)