Friday, October 31st 2008

On a not-so-recent trip to Toronto I ran into a “sticky” situation and almost did not make it back.

I was there on a gig, a jack off gig to be exact. My time there was due to be brief since I had Ma Hazzard waiting at my apartment in West Hollywood. Everything started in customs the minute I arrived in Toronto. They asked me the usual line of questions, marked my claim form with a big red mark and sent me on my way, or so I thought.

I began to follow everybody else to the exit when I was stopped by the attendant who directed me left through a very quiet hallway around a corner to a large, sterile room with 10 or 15 other unsuspecting visitors. We all clutched the papers in our hands and wore expressions of general frustration and annoyance; it had now been nearly an hour since I walked off the plane. I understood though, that because I was here for one night with no checked baggage that I was a bit of a red flag so the inconvenience was tolerated.

I proceeded to the little gate that was attended by a serious little woman. She asked me the same line of questions except she dug a little deeper and asked me who I was there to see and where I was going to eat and what time and what hotel. Luckily I had been scrolling through my e-mails on my Blackberry waiting for the first interrogation and took notice of the hotel and a list of nearby restaurants so I was prepared. She was expressionless as she marked my piece of paper …again….. once again I was ushered away from the masses into another large room except this time I was the only one there.

I took my bag up to the stainless steel table and began to answer the same questions by yet another guard. This one was young, younger than me and he seemed to be weighed down by his security costume. At this point I was annoyed. I was even more annoyed when I was asked to put my bag on the table for search. He began to empty the contents. It was at this point that I was SO HAPPY I did not bring my 8×10’s and some choice DVD’s; can you imagine? I had to also empty my pockets handing over my wallet. I, still on my Blackberry scrolling and surfing, was trying not to pay attention to the fishnet briefs and thong underwear that were now in full display on the table in front of me. He moved to my wallet and began to empty all my receipts and cards out on the table. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pick something out of the pile of papers, not thinking anything of it, I resumed my texting spree.

“It looks like you forgot something” he said. I looked up to see him holding between his thumb and index finger a roach, not a cockroach, but the butt end of a joint. My inner voice screamed FUCK!!!!! My outer voice mustered out a “O my God… I had no idea that was in there, I’m so sorry!”

As if I could reason my way out of it by saying that I was sorry. I had no idea it was in there! If my intention was to bring some pot across the border I would have brought some fresh stuff hidden much more discretely. OK, I really just wouldn’t do it in the first place. After my defense speech was complete his response was, “I have to read you something… you have the right to say nothing, you have the right to counsel”….yadda yadda.

He asked me again if I wanted counsel and I told him that I didn’t know what to do here, this sort of thing had never happened to me before. I asked for his advice. He told me I was not going to jail, but I will have to pay a fine and miss “my party.” I said no counsel. My phone, meanwhile was ringing every 30 seconds because my car waiting, wondering where the hell I was off to. I asked him if I could answer it, he said,” No” and took it with the rest of my belongings. He did leave me, however, with my Wine Spectator magazine and my pillow. I sat there reading about Manchego and St. Emillions for the next 2.5 hours. He came back after what seemed like an eternity and handed me a piece of paper. I asked him “So what do I do now?”

“You leave and go to your party and check your wallet next time you cross the border”.

I was dumbfounded and beyond grateful. I do not remember if I asked why I was being let go without fine or charge but he told me that because it was not willful, the amount was negligible and this happened in customs that I was being let go. I did not ask for clarification. I took my Wine Spectator and hit the road. My car was long gone, but luckily they were not far and returned in 20 minutes, long enough for me to catch my breath and call my mom to thank her for her angels. They definitely earned their wings today.

My evening was only beginning.

This entry was posted by Johnny on Friday, October 31st, 2008 at 11:23 AM and is filed under Planes, Trains & Automobiles. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

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