Killer Chickens

One of the great things about living in P-A is being able to go cross-border shopping, or as we like to call it, going "over cross". Or maybe it is "over across". Anyway, the slang term basically means spending our hard-earned Canadian dollar in a place that thinks it is only worth 80% what we think it's worth.

I have been going "over cross" since I was in the womb. In fact, I had learned how to smuggle shoes by the time I was 5.....wear old shoes over, buy new shoes, throw old shoes away, and whistle non-nonchalantly as you go to the border, hoping they don't smell the new leather on your feet. Just for the record, I don't smuggle anymore. I gave it up at about age 7 when I developed a fear of people in uniforms with guns.

So today I went "over cross" to get groceries. For those of you who say I should "buy local", I mostly do that, except in good old P-A the one grocery store in town does not sell egg beaters and nitrate free turkey bacon. So there.

I was kind of lolly gagging, it being Sunday and all, and wasn't thinking too straight when I choose something at the grocery store that would lead to trouble. Trouble with the people who have guns.

When returning to Canada, the nice lady with the gun at customs asked me what I was bringing back. I told her the dollar amount, and then the amount of tax. Based on these numbers alone, I would either be able to pass go or I would be sent in to pay duty. I ALWAYS have to pay duty because I don't smuggle, and I don't lie to people with guns.

Then she asked me the question....."Are you bringing back any chicken or eggs"? Gulp. Somehow in my relaxed lolly gagging state I had forgotten we are not supposed to bring chicken or eggs back due to the possible transmission of terrible diseases to Canada. I had eggs. 12 of them. I had to confess immediately, as I do not lie to people with guns.

I had to take my dozen eggs into the office for inspection. Turns out I had purchased KILLER eggs that had to be returned to the USA. Even though my eggs were destined to go into my belly, not to a farm, or to be licked by a chicken, the Canadian government has deemed it necessary to restrict USA eggs from entering the country. I tried to explain I would take the eggs home and eat them by Friday, and I wouldn't let any chicken near them, and that I have a stomach of steel and can digest even KILLER eggs, but the man with the gun just scowled. No negotiation. He told me to return the eggs to the US border and they would dispose of them for me. He even gave me a paper to explain to the US customs agent why I was not allowed to enter my own country. Damn eggs.

The US Customs Agent saw me getting turned away from my own Customs Agent, and said "What have you done?", to which I replied "Something illegal. Killer eggs. I am told you will take my eggs and dispose of them".

He said, "I don't want your eggs".
I said "But you have to take my eggs"
"Nope"
"Yup"
"Nope"

Here I was, arguing with a man with a gun. Sweet Jesus, what was I thinking?

I decided try another approach. "Nice looking customs office you have here. Got a kitchen? I can whip up some scrambled eggs up for you - I have green onions and cheese in the trunk. Tasty, hmmmm"?

"Nope"

So, I gave up and had to ask the obvious question "If Canada won't let me back in to the country with the eggs, and you won't take them, then what shall I do with the eggs?"

He suggested I give the eggs to someone. That was not helpful, as I don't know anyone in Maine. So I drove away, and realized I could just go to the nearest grocery store and give the eggs to someone there from the USA. THOSE folks can eat the killer eggs, just not us delicate Canadians with the sensitive digestive tracts.

So I drove to the grocery store. Parked. An older man was sitting in a van, obviously waiting for his wife to finish the grocery shopping. I introduced myself politely, and told him the situation. Then I asked him if he would like to eggs.

"Nope"
"WHATDAYMEAN NOPE?"
"No, thank you" (older man now looking slightly uncomfortable)

Walk away, Donna, walk away. I retreated. I was embarrassed. I am not a crazy woman trying to give away eggs on the street. HONEST!

I threw the eggs in the garbage can, thinking someone surely could have benefited from all that protein.

I went home. I gave Danger his new toy. A rubber chicken. Made in the USA. I gave up the eggs, but they'll NEVER get the chicken!