The Returnables Kicked Out of Canada:
Part Two: Jacques and the Punk Rock Border Pig
by Reggie

Having vanquished our SUV foe, Team Returnables was riding an emotional high.

But the real headache was yet to come.

Border inspection.

Now, certain members of our party had never been to Canada before, and believed our neighbours to the north would have no problem admitting four lovable lads such as ourselves. You know, just drop a few Bob and Doug McKenzie references, say "Go Leafs" and you're in.

Having spent some time in the area, I knew differently.

Even in less cautious times, our Canuck contemporaries would be reluctant to wave through a van load of unwashed misfits who smelled of cheap beer and cigarettes. We could've had Guy LaFleur in the backseat, and we'd still be in for a hard time.

We immediately get off on the wrong foot when Frankie completely ignored a stop sign and tailgated in behind the vehicle directly in front of us. The boarder pigs like a little more privacy when they're drilling the tourists. They don't want to give anything away, eh.

Inspector Jacques gives us a dismissive look and waves us back from his seat in the booth.

I knew we were doomed right then.

Our turn comes, and Frankie inches the Returnamobile forward.

Jacques starts with the routine:

"Birth certificates or passports, please."

We quickly pool our driver licenses together and hand them over. So far so good...

...except Jacques is not interested in our laminated driving privileges.

"Gentlemen, let me say this again: Birth certificates or passports, please."

We were at a loss.

Being the driver, Frankie was our de facto spokesman. "Uh, we don't have our birth certificates..."

Jacques gets his flannels in a knot. "You're entering another country, and you don't bring a birth certificate or passport with you? What are you thinking?"

"Uh, we have our licenses..."

"Licenses don't prove anything except you can drive. You need proof of citizenship to enter another country. Do you think the US just lets people in without proof of citizenship?"

For a second, I thought he was even gonna lecture us for not having any April Wine cassettes in the van.

So this was how it was going to be. The Great Northern Inferiority Complex. You kids are gonna take my country seriously, damnit! This ain't some revolving door! If you want to look at our waterfall and patronize our wax museums and nudie bars, you'd better bring some birth certificates.

Jacques is in full-on Little Big Man mode now. He starts asking the standard "have ya brought any booze, drugs, tobacco" etc. spiel.

It was obvious to everyone at this point that our van was gonna end up in pieces on the side of the road, so I couldn't understand why he didn't just cut to the chase right then and there.

Maybe he gets paid by the question.

Anyway, after failing to get us to admit we were actually elite members of a Colombian drug cartel, he tells us to pull forward, where another team of power-hungry Canucks would no doubt redecorate our ride.

We pull up to the inspection station, and two guards immediately start climbing all over our van. We're seated on a bench hoping no one left a roach in an ashtray.

As the two stooges rifle through our unmentionables, another guard approaches us.

"So where you guys going, eh?"

I size the guard up. Middle-aged, mirrored glasses, Lucky Strike dangling from the side of his mouth. Great. Canada's own Buford T. Justice.

"Ypsilanti, Michigan," I said. "We're supposed to play there tonight."

"You're a band, eh? What kind of music?"

The question no musician ever wants to answer. I figure I'd cut this line of questioning off at the knees. "Punk." There. That ought to shut him up.

"Punk, eh? Do any cover tunes?"

What was this guy's deal? Didn't I just say we were punk? We ain't no cover band. What was he expecting? Bob Segar standards?

"Uh, no. No covers."

"Really? No Damned songs? No Sham 69?"

My jaw dropped. Was this riverbilly hayseed actually namedropping Captain Sensible and Jimmy Pursey? We may have an ally here we didn't realize.

"You guys ever hear of Feargal Sharkey and the Undertones, eh?"

Now I just about lost it. Cuz those of you who know your Returnables history will remember the band started out playing nothing but Undertones covers.

So we start talking with this old school Canuck punk who just happened to hold the fate of our international entry in his hands. We might pull this thing off.

About a half hour to 45 minutes pass, and after checking every inch of the Returnamobile short of crawling up the exhaust pipe, the guards put all our gear back into the van. A lousy job of stacking, but we appreciated the gesture.

The guards come up, exchange a few words with Mr. Old School. He then turns to us and says, "You're almost out of here. Just go check in at the desk in there. And have a good show, eh."

It was looking too good to be true. And it was...

Part Three...