I got myself into long-term trouble. Maybe this story can help someone avoid shady border officers’ tactics at the border.
I did some contract design work for an American company, and when the project was done they organized a release party in Atlanta and offered to bring me down from Canada for it. Alanis Morisette was lined up to perform, and I was pretty stoked.
My plane tickets took me across Canada to Toronto with a connecting flight to Atlanta. In Toronto, I went into security for the border crossing. “What is the purpose of your trip?” A reasonable question. “I’m attending a client’s party overnight then coming right back.” I was accompanied to a white windowless room with no door handles.
I missed my flight waiting in there. The officer who showed up to interview me seemed pretty young. At least three times, he asked, “so what are you going to do there?” and I kept answering, “It’s just a corporate party. I’m going to watch the performance, have a few drinks, meet people, catch a nap, then come home.” I started to think he was dense.
Then he asked, “So you’re not doing any work down there?”
“Huh? No, it’s a party (what’s wrong with you, man?)”
“Nothing at all?”
“Well, I guess if they ask me to help tape up a poster or something I’d help out (?)”
And that was my downfall. In my youthful ignorance and genuine desire to be helpful, I let him pester and guide me into imagining something that wasn’t real. He instantly stamped something, denied me entry, and started to leave. But whoah, whoah, whoah, what’s going on?
I didn’t realize anything considered work was illegal without a work visa, and I didn’t even know what a visa was, so I asked about it all. He said I needed to get a letter from my client saying I worked for them, and made it sound straightforward, like I could do this overnight.
I spent most of the night bugging my client for the letter, getting my flight rebooked, and so on (this was all pre-mobile phones, so imagine pulling that off).
With a bunch of help, I did get the letter and the new flight, and my work contract, and proof of my home address, and all, and didn’t sleep. My client said, “can’t you just go home and sleep?” Ha! He knew nothing of Canadian geography. “I’m thousands of miles from home right now!” And I felt incredibly alone.
Of course, all that was for nothing because a work visa actually takes months, and lawyers. So, I rebooked a flight back and stewed in the anger, confusion, betrayal, and frustration the whole way.
But the story’s not over, because they’d quietly blacklisted me.
Years later, I had a cool job opportunity in Los Angeles. I tried to fly down for the interview, and walked up to security for the border crossing. There was no way I was mentioning work ever again so long as I lived, so I was staying with my friend for a couple days (I actually was) and I stuck to that, and just that, and only that, plain, simple, and without decoration.
I was led off into a room full of border officers with guns, and mine said, “entry is denied,” so I turned and started leaving.
I need to point out that there were prominent signs around that read, “Walk straight to your destination. Do not stop or turn around” or something, but I stopped. And it probably only took a moment, but I had a long conversation in my head about what probably just happened, and how much I wanted to do the interview.
The first experience had unwittingly taught me to be more direct, more defiant, and less helpful. I decided the whole rest of my life turned on this moment, so I turned and started back to the desk. Every officer in there moved their hands to their weapons.
My guy reminded me of the Quaker Oats guy, Wilford Brimley, but super southern. He let me approach, and after a breath I said, “isn’t there any way—at all—we can make this happen today?” After a long pause and some preamble and argument he said, “maybe if you had proof you have a home here…” so I pulled mortgage documents and bills out of my bag (I was so thankful I’d wanted to be over-prepared!). “Ok, but there’s no proof you work here…” so I presented a business card. “
Anyone can print a business card,” he said. But one by one I started knocking things down and kept pulling things out of my bag until he said, “don’t move,” and walked away.
I wondered if maybe he was getting a bigger gun, but after an eternity he returned with a small card. I’ll remember his next words until I die. Deepest southern accent: “Son, I’m gonna put you on what I like to call…a short. Leash.”
The card said I had to be back across the border by a specific day and time. I asked, “what if something goes wrong and I miss it?” Only one word and a slow head shake in response: “Don’t.”
I didn’t miss it, and I got the job, and my employer got a lawyer, and they sent me a multi-inch stack of legal armor to take with me for the permanent move, the final flight out of Canada. I got a different officer. He spent about ten seconds stamping me good to go. I saw Quaker Oats in there though, and as I walked out he shouted, “you get the job?!”
“Sure did!” I shouted back, but I knew better than to stop or turn around.
This is a case of accidentally saying exactly the right thing, instead of something wrong. Just bringing it up for contrast.
My wife, our 2 youngest daughters aged 7 and 6, and I were crossing into Canada to catch a flight to China. At the border the guards did not seem to understand why we were entering Canada to catch a flight elsewhere, and the guard barked her orders:” Pull over to Parking Spot 10! Roll down your windows, and wait there until we come out!”
Of course did as I was told. While waiting, the 7 year old girl asked “Why are they being so mean to us?”. Her voice almost broke into tears.
“Honey, they’re not being really mean. They’re just protecting their country from bad people. They don’t know you, your mother, or me, and so they have to be careful that they don’t let bad people into their country who might hurt them. That’s all.”
5 minutes later 2 border guards walked to my car and were much more polite in their questions. After opening the trunk of the car to see we did have lots of luggage in there as well as seeing our plane tickets, we were waved through.
It only occurred to me later that they had me roll down the car windows so they could listen in to any conversations that might be in the car while waiting. Instead of hearing anything incriminating, they heard how badly they had scared an innocent little girl, and her Dad was defending those doing the scaring.
