As I'll probably recount in way too many posts, my great friends Andy Burkhardt and his wife Heidi have left us to move to Michigan. Heidi started working at the University of Michigan and moved earlier in the fall, and Andy finally followed her a couple days ago. As a beloved friend - and generally loony character - Andy inspired several going away parties. One of the soirees was hosted by Sandy and Debbie Zale (more on that later) and I was considering what going away gift to get him. Now, to be fair, I had already purchased them a copy of Basho's The Narrow Road to the Deep North, which, despite being a wonderful collection of haiku poetry that also serves as a travelogue, it seemed to fit the move to the Great Northern Mitten that is Michigan. And, yes, clearly this speaks to how cool I am. In this case I decided to head up across the border into Canada and bring back some TimBits, which are the Tim Horton's equivalent of donut holes. TimBits are filled with Canadian goodness, and are clearly much better than anything one could get at Dunkin' Donuts. I drafted Mike Lange for the journey, and he was only too willing. On our journeys up to Montreal Alouettes games we made it a tradition to stop at Tim Horton's, usually on the way up and after the game.
Considering the number of tragic terrorist attacks lately we were somewhat concerned with the prospect of getting back into the US, especially since the "we just drove up here to get donuts for a friend's going away party" sounds suspicious, even to me. We weren't really concerned with crossing into Canada. As I imagine filming the scene it would go something like this:
Canadian border guard: [friendly, as they always are] "What's the purpose of your trip?"
Me: [pausing, then laughing] "Driving up to the closest Tim Horton's to get some TimBits for a going away party for our friend."
Canadian border guard: [friendly, as they always are] "So, your friend really likes Tim Horton's?"
Me: [relieved] "Who doesn't?"
Canadian border guard: [friendly, initially, as they always are - until he starts flipping through my passport, and then suddenly his smile fades as he gets to all the Arab stamps in my passport, and the kiss of death Yemen visa] "Are bringing anything into the country . . ."
Which, of course, led to many questions and the car being pulled over and searched, albeit quickly - and the guard was always friendly. It did make us even more concerned about getting back across the border.
We tracked down what we are pretty certain is the southern most Tim Horton's, which is in Saint Jean Sur Richelieu off the first exit once you get onto the new section of 35. We bought a box of 50 TimBits for Andy and a box of 10 to give to my son - and, of course, we each had a box of 10, because this was exhausting work.
Fast forward to the border, this time heading south.
American border guard: [friendly, although not as friendly as the Canadian border guards, and certainly less routinely friendly] "What was the purpose of your trip into Canada?"
Me: [with due sense of dread] "To bring back some Tim Horton's Tim Bits for a going away present for a friend." [preparing for the inevitable cavity search]
American border guard: "How many did you bring back?"
Me: [clearly not completely understanding the question, either because I was nervous or simply because I'm hard of hearing] 60.
American border guard: [raising his voice, although more from surprise/amazement than anger] "You brought back 60 dozen donuts?"
Me: [laughing, despite the inevitability of the cavity search] "Oh, god, no. A box of 50 TimBits and another box of 10 TimBits. Even I couldn't eat 60 dozen donuts."
American border guard: [friendly, as is their wont] "I would hope not. Have a great day."
It left Mike and I feeling like we had clearly gotten away with something, until about a mile south of the border when it occurred to us that he must have thought that we clearly looked like two very large Americans who would drive across the border solely to eat donuts. I think he was being sizist, and we both felt oppressed and calorically profiled.
In the end Andy loved his gift and it was well worth the trouble, and we'll be back.
Considering the number of tragic terrorist attacks lately we were somewhat concerned with the prospect of getting back into the US, especially since the "we just drove up here to get donuts for a friend's going away party" sounds suspicious, even to me. We weren't really concerned with crossing into Canada. As I imagine filming the scene it would go something like this:
Canadian border guard: [friendly, as they always are] "What's the purpose of your trip?"
Me: [pausing, then laughing] "Driving up to the closest Tim Horton's to get some TimBits for a going away party for our friend."
Canadian border guard: [friendly, as they always are] "So, your friend really likes Tim Horton's?"
Me: [relieved] "Who doesn't?"
Canadian border guard: [friendly, initially, as they always are - until he starts flipping through my passport, and then suddenly his smile fades as he gets to all the Arab stamps in my passport, and the kiss of death Yemen visa] "Are bringing anything into the country . . ."
Which, of course, led to many questions and the car being pulled over and searched, albeit quickly - and the guard was always friendly. It did make us even more concerned about getting back across the border.
We tracked down what we are pretty certain is the southern most Tim Horton's, which is in Saint Jean Sur Richelieu off the first exit once you get onto the new section of 35. We bought a box of 50 TimBits for Andy and a box of 10 to give to my son - and, of course, we each had a box of 10, because this was exhausting work.
Fast forward to the border, this time heading south.
American border guard: [friendly, although not as friendly as the Canadian border guards, and certainly less routinely friendly] "What was the purpose of your trip into Canada?"
Me: [with due sense of dread] "To bring back some Tim Horton's Tim Bits for a going away present for a friend." [preparing for the inevitable cavity search]
American border guard: "How many did you bring back?"
Me: [clearly not completely understanding the question, either because I was nervous or simply because I'm hard of hearing] 60.
American border guard: [raising his voice, although more from surprise/amazement than anger] "You brought back 60 dozen donuts?"
Me: [laughing, despite the inevitability of the cavity search] "Oh, god, no. A box of 50 TimBits and another box of 10 TimBits. Even I couldn't eat 60 dozen donuts."
American border guard: [friendly, as is their wont] "I would hope not. Have a great day."
It left Mike and I feeling like we had clearly gotten away with something, until about a mile south of the border when it occurred to us that he must have thought that we clearly looked like two very large Americans who would drive across the border solely to eat donuts. I think he was being sizist, and we both felt oppressed and calorically profiled.
In the end Andy loved his gift and it was well worth the trouble, and we'll be back.
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| Mike has determined that the southern most Tim Horton's is only fifteen minutes away (which sounds like my logic) and thus we plan on driving up there around once a month for coffee and Tim Bits. I suspect it's actually something like 20 minutes once you get past the border, but I'm not going to argue against going to Tim Horton's. |
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