Of Two Countries Uniting for a Common Cause

Britney Spears Sass

I am going to tell you a tale. A tale of strength. Of unity. Of not taking anymore bullshit.

It was a Sunday like any other Sunday. Sleep in, puzzle, drink coffee, puzzle, watch TV whilst puzzling – basically we puzzle a lot. But around 8pm the puzzling ceased as we piled into a car to go dancing in Canada. Not clubbing, remember that it was a Sunday, that’d be super lame. We go social dancing, blues dancing if you want to get specific. Narrowing it down even further we go sexy-basically-hugging-dancing-to-contemporary-and-electronic-music. Think swing but slower, with a pulse step instead of a rock or triple step. And with more body rolls and dips than you can wrap your head around. Anyways, we were on our way to do that when we hit an epic border wait.

Now any border wait longer than 25 minutes brings out the asshole cutters. And any wait over 45 minutes makes the impatient people think it’s a good idea to form a line next to the line that’s trying to cut in line – yeah, it’s complicated. They’re like gnats in the middle of the path – you don’t see them until they’ve surrounded you and all you can do is bat your arm in front of your face. By that point there’s not much you can do, you’re in the thick of it. We were looking at a wait so long that the border guards wouldn’t even give us a specific amount of time to anticipate sitting in the car. All we knew is that it was going to be >75 minutes. Which when you factor in the additional time spent waiting due to the cutters, we were going to sit in line for at minimum two hours.

We were completely stopped and we weren’t even off the freeway yet. Our spirits started to dampen. We began cranking our necks to try to get a visual on just how long of a wait we were actually looking at. We were already on our second cd when people started zipping past us on the shoulder. The assholes had arrived.

Oh Hell No! We were not gonna let that fly, so I did my usual half in the lane and half on the shoulder blocking move. To my surprise, the headlights behind me followed my lead.

Together we blocked the impatient buggers all the way up the exit ramp. However once there was an opening to pass on the left shoulder, the villians made their way over there. “You got that side, we got this side!” We yelled.

And with that we inched forward, side-by-side, 1 American car and 1 Canadian car united in a battle against cheaters. My passengers high-5’d the driver, and we bonded over how people should realize that zipping around on the shoulder slows everyone down. It was beautiful.

Sadly, we lost our new Canadian friend in the chaos. But I want him to know:

Dear Canadian in the Black Truck,

My car was very sad when we lost you in the crowd, and we may never seen each other again. But we love you. Whenever we see a large black truck with BC plates we’ll peer in at the driver and hope that it’s you. Wishing that we can combat evil together again.


The Blue Car with Washington Plates


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