Dealing with U.S. Customs
Since I married an American and travel to the States fairly often either for business or to see family and in-laws, people often ask me if I have any difficulty with U.S. Customs since I cross the border so often.
The truth is that I usually breeze through customs. Part of it is that my wife is American; the other part is that I know how to act so as not to arouse Homeland Security’s hair-trigger suspicions. Simply put, I know how to fit in.
The woodcutting below, while not a literal depiction, should give you a reasonably accurate idea of Wendy and me going through Customs at the airport:
![](data:image/svg+xml;charset=utf-8,<svg height="700px" width="537px" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2000/svg" version="1.1"/>)
“Do you think they’ll let us into prom, bear?”
“Sure they will. Rarr rar rar, lookit me, I live in a subdivision! Rar rarrr rarr rar I’m an Amerrrrrrican.”
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Fitting in (or at least not being obnoxious) is a good skill to have at airports, RIDE traffic stops, and any place where you deal with people who have statute authority to mash your face with a MagLite, if they feel you require it.
This is a point often lost on wiseacres, who think that simply quoting one's constitutional rights allows them to be an ass to police and also keep the Thin Blue Line at bay.
One's rights will provide the remedy afterward, in a court of law. But nothing protects you from John Law's discretionary powers at time of execution—except for not being a wiseass to them in the first place.
Can anyone tell me where that illustration originally comes from? I've been trying to track it down for ages
Lisa: I wish I knew -- I found this on one of those sites that collects interesting or funny pictures.
No worries - thanks for replying