I’m in Vancouver, B.C. right now. I crossed the border an hour or so ago. The Canadian border chic was a cute blonde with a ponytail and a bullet-proof vest. I handed her my passport and then she started grilling me:
“Where are you coming from?”
“Where are you going?”
“Do you know anyone in Canada?”
“Have you ever seen a grown man naked?”
You know, the usual.
But once across the border, everything was different. It was like I’d just crossed into a foreign country or something. My GPS started speaking french and using the metric system. There were no road signs, and all the cars only had 3 wheels, and they were made out of salad. Gas cost one million dollars, and the internet is 6 times as fast as in the states, but only for sites about Celine Dion. You can pay for parking meters with your cell phone. Their money looks funny and to confuse you they call it “dollars.” Their Red Bull has cocaine in it, and caffeine is illegal unless you snort it. Water comes out of the tap carbonated. I’m telling you Americans don’t know shit about Canada.