July 9, 2007

-- Through a series of unlikely events, I found myself traveling abroad yesterday. That’s right, I spent upwards of an hour 100 yards or so inside Canada on Sunday, above Watertown, NY. I wish I could tell you the whole story (I really do), but I can’t. At least not here.

When we were leaving the good ol’ US of A, a woman at the border asked us where we were traveling from, and how long we were planning to stay in Canada. We told her we’d come from Scranton, and were only planning to stay for a few minutes, hopefully less than an hour. 

It’s a wonder we weren’t whisked to an interrogation room following that answer. But after a few more deadly-serious, absolutely-humorless questions, she allowed us to proceed.

We were helping, um, relatives with some sort of convoluted cluster-fornication (blah blah blah), and ended up sitting inside the border station for a half-hour or so. Ahhh, the ambience. It was as if we’d been magically whisked to a county clerk’s office in Trenton, NJ, circa 1948.

Because there was a translucent child walking around with one of those voices that makes you think something is being shoved straight your brain stem, and two parents who let him just keep on shovin’, I got the hell out of there. I’d just stand outside in the humidity; screw it.

And across a busy road I noticed a store of sorts. It was a duty free shop, and the joint seemed to be doing a turnaway business. So the youngest Secret and I started walking…

Inside the front door was a massive display of Molson Canadian, and I knew I’d found myself a nice alternative to the previous dullness. 

It was a fairly gigantic place, and there were signs everywhere saying (in several languages) that they require your license plate number at checkout (?!). And everything had the Canadian price on it, as well as the American, and people were walking around talking in French, and many of the brand-names were unrecognizable… Oh, this was going to be fun.

I located the beer alcove almost immediately, and Molson and Labatt’s were the only ones I recognized. To tell you the truth, I found this to be quite disconcerting. I’m a person who knows his beer, goddammit. In fact, if beer were penis, I’d be Pamela Anderson. But I was completely lost in that tiny room.

Beside me was a lesbian with the sleeves of her t-shirt ripped off, and a five o’clock shadow. Best as I could tell, she was having the same problem as me, and I made a little joke about the unfamiliarity of it all. She looked over and said, “Well, there’s only one way to remedy that, my friend. Just pick one, and start drinkin’!” 

I liked her attitude.

I noticed she chose something called Molson XXX, which appeared to be regular Molson with extra alcohol, the beer version of fortified wine. No thanks. That’s the kind of shit that leads to “Hey everybody, watch this!”

I didn’t know my license number, and used that as an excuse to delay my decision. I walked around the store, and checked things out. And near the front was a large candy display with stuff I’d never seen before. Like strange novelty versions of Kit Kit bars, and the like. I think one was called Kit Kat Kurry, but I might be mistaken.

Then I saw it: a large tin of Quality Street. Oh, man! I love that stuff, and it was the same-sized package Toney gave me for Christmas last year. She’d ordered it from a website that specializes in British candy, and with shipping it had reportedly cost $25. Yesterday it was $11.49, American. And that would definitely be purchased.

A big section of the store was taken-up with perfumes and colognes, and that sort of thing. Booooring. And I don’t have much interest in liquor either, except during bourbon season. I looked at their t-shirts and mugs and stuff, and didn’t see anything that interested me. And I couldn’t give a single dingle about maple syrup.

I was mildly interested in the Cuban cigars, but they were incredibly expensive. And I didn’t like the idea of smuggling them back into the country, especially after they took my license number. I thought about buying a box and stuffing the entire contents into my underwear, but a little voice inside my head told me it probably wouldn’t work out in my favor.

So I went back across the road to 1948 Trenton, and was shocked to see that everything was already being wrapped-up there. Huh. I was certain we’d be held hostage for hours and hours.

Everyone ended up at the store again, and it was time to either shit or get off the pot, as they say. 

I finally went with the Molson Canadian. All my life I’ve heard people praise that stuff. And whenever I’ve tried a bottle and found it to be nothing spectacular, the answer is always, “Oh, you’ve got to drink the real Canadian version of it, not the crap they sell here.” 

I have a suspicion it’s all just bullshit perpetrated by people who don’t have any idea what they’re talking about. (I come across this from time to time.) But it’s a mystery that needs to be solved. 

So I’ve got a case of real Canadian Molson, with French writing on the box and everything, cooling in the fridge in the basement right now. We’ll see how it goes. Starting tonight.

Oh, and I’ve already put a sizable dent in my new Quality Street stash as well. Double-yum.

When we were returning (finally!) to America, the guy at the border made the all-business chick on the other side seem like Phyllis Diller. 

Remember that character Bookman from Seinfeld? Yeah, he was something along those lines. Wow. He made me start questioning myself. Hell, maybe I am a terrorist, and never realized it? 

He asked if I had anything to declare, and I practically shouted, “There’s a case of Molson in the trunk!” I had a feeling he already knew it was there, and if I lied it would make his day. And flat-out ruin mine.

We got home last night around 1 am, and I didn’t get to bed until after 2. And that’s why this update is late today. We world travelers need our recovery rest. Sweet Maria.

The Question of the Day: what Canadian beer should I buy on our next visit up there? Apparently we’re going to be spending some time north of the border from now on, and I want to educate myself on the beers. Any help will be much appreciated.

And I’ll get back to the regular stuff tomorrow.

See ya then.



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