Oh Canada

If you ever visit Canada and they ask you what kind of business you're in the country for, "writing software" is apparently the wrong answer. I knew I should have said "monkey." The polite customs official scribbled all over my form and drew what appeared to be two giant "X"s on it with a pink highlighter (pink must have some special significance). He then handed it back to me wordlessly and I proceeded on. Then another guard looked at my form and, noticing the pink "X"s informed me that I would need to report to immigration. "But everyone else went that way," I protested. She simply pointed. Head held low I walked to a large stop sign reading "STOP! Wait here until you are called!" and I waited until I was called. Then the questioning began. "Who do you work for?" "What are you doing in Canada?" "Who is number 1?" and finally, "Do you have a permit?" A permit, no one said anything about a permit. We got a permit for that swing set we put up in the yard last year, I wonder if that's what he means. I had visions of myself standing in the Canadian Abu Ghraib, a polite, pasty woman pointing at me and giving the thumbs up as someone snaps a photograph. I'd become one of those unfortunate souls who disappears into America's neighbor to the north every year never to be heard from again. Just tell my family I love them. Lucky for me it's only a one week engagement which,  puts me under the permit radar. With a stern warning of "Tell you're company they'll need a permit and it's $150.00 Canadian!" I was sent on my way to enjoy all that lovely Toronto has to offer. Now if I could only figure out how far 5 Kilometers is. Damn metric system.