Border Crossing
On a solo drive from New York to California I stopped in Detroit to stay with my Uncle Danny. It was just me and him - the rest of the extended family was out of town. We went and got some delicious barbecue ribs for dinner. Over the meal he convinced me to stick around an extra day as he had a gig tomorrow and if I helped him out I could make a quick $100, which was like half a month's rent back in 1992. A gig doing what? Industrial oil filtering. I wasn't in a rush to get to California, and needed the cash, so why not?
I'll spare you the details of the long day, but it was messy. In fact Danny encouraged me to borrow some manly work clothes as not to ruin my regular wardrobe of jeans and t-shirts.
On the drive back to his house we decided to celebrate a successful workday by quickly crossing into Canada and having dinner in Windsor for kicks. As we headed to the border Danny showed off his new car phone - once again this was 1992, so it was impressive technology during those simpler times. Also funny that I myself didn't get a cell phone until 2008.
Border crossings were also easier back then. As we approached the checkpoint, Danny proudly boasted how during all the many years living in the region he never got stopped and questioned when entering Canada. He was expecting to be pretty much waved on through as usual.
And then I remembered.. since I was working with oil all day I didn't bring my wallet. I left it at the house lest it get all gross and gunked up or forgotten in the pocket of those unfamiliar work clothes. The upshot was I had no ID on me whatsoever. I mentioned this to Danny, and he assumed it would be okay.
But if you know me you know my greatest fear is everybody finding out I'm actually a stupid idiot, and I have zero poker face skills. The border guard sensed my tension and asked to see my ID. I went, "uh.." and we were immediately commanded to go over to secondary inspection. So much for Danny's perfect border crossing record. Sorry, Danny.
I felt bad enough for causing the minor snafu, but the woman at the inspection desk completely harassed me, accusing me of being so arrogant to think I could just waltz into another country with no ID. I tried to explain what happened and how it was an honest mistake, but couldn't really get my point across through my nervous stuttering. Danny chimed in to defend me and the woman snapped at him, "I wasn't talking to you! Or does he have a mental problem where he can't speak for himself?" Sheesh. What a hardass.
I was mortified but the thing is, after the tongue lashing and finger wagging they still let us both through even though I had zero identification. Yup, 1992. Simpler times.