Editor:

He crossed the border south on 176 Street about 11 a.m. on a Wednesday, after a 45-minute wait, heading for a golf time at Semiahmoo at 11:30.

The U. S. crossing was impatiently long, with hundreds of cars backed up to 8 Avenue waiting to head south. Troubled travelers waiting to cross the border south, shuffled their entry documents and tried to find something on the radio to entertain their minds and pass the time.

The U. S. border guard was pleasant enough, asking the obligatory questions, and throwing in a query about the snacks he was bringing south.

“Were they bison or beef,” he was asked.

“Ham,” he said.

Nice touch, he thought. He had a great day at the course, playing with  mediocrity but enjoying a day away on a beautiful golf course with cordial golf partners. A snack after and, queuing up an old Sgt. Pepper’s tape he found in the glove box of his ‘95 Buick, he headed north for the Canadian border.

What a beautiful day, he thought as She’s Leaving Home crackled from his 14-year-old sound system. Half way through When I’m Sixty-Four, he rolls into the Canada border crossing where there is no lineup.

He stops next to the border guard, who is slouching against his wicket with a self-important sneer on his young face, and he fumbles a little for his identification.

“Turn off the radio,” the young, uniformed and flack-jacketed guardian of Canada shouts. “Let’s see your ID”

“That’s why I’m looking in my wallet,” he says.

Upon checking his ID, the crossing guard said, “What was you business in he U.S.?”

“I was playing golf,” the old gentleman said.

“Where did you play golf?” 

“At Semiahmoo, do you think I’m lying?” the 77-year-old threat to Canada replied, starting to get a little piqued at this inexperienced, rude and highly paid recipient of  his tax dollars.

Canada’s guardian, begrudgingly it seemed, let him through.

We don’t need civil servants with attitude. I’m still piqued.

Almost ruined my day. 

Lionel Newton, Surrey