“I sneezed.”
“You sneezed?”
“That’s right. Something got in my nose and I sneezed.”
“Is it illegal to sneeze in Canada?”
“Absolutely. It’s a public health issue.”
“Wow. I didn’t know your country was so weir -“
“No, it’s not illegal to sneeze in Canada! If it was…everybody would have a police record!”
“Then, why did you say it was a public health issue?”
“Don’t you recognize sarcasm when you hear it?”
“No, ma’am. I’m an American Border Officer. One of the criteria by which we are chosen is a distinct and utter lack of a sense of humour, which includes but is not limited to an inability to detect puns and other forms of wordplay, reversals, exaggerations, reductions to absurdity, irony and sarcasm.”
“Must be fun to be you.”
“In my off hours, yes.”
“Riiiight.”
“You were fingerprinted and your mug shot was taken.”
“That’s right.”
“For sneezing.”
“The police officer said it was disrespectful of the uniform.”
“Is it against the law in Canada to disrespect a policeman’s uniform?”
“Not as far as I am aware, no.”
“Oh. And, here I was, all ready to give your country newfound respect.”
“It’s a good thing you made it clear that you have no sense of humour, or I would have thought you just made a joke at my expense.”
“No, ma’am. I do not believe that keeping criminals out of my country is a laughing matter.”
“Criminals? Criminals? I was seven years old!”
“So you say, ma’am.”
“The document you’re looking at on your computer must have a date on it. Consider how old I look, then do the math.”
“That won’t work, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“You could have had plastic surgery.”
“But…uhh…but – look. Every part of my face moves. Would I be able to have such a…mobile face if I had had plastic surgery?”
“I couldn’t possibly say. The medical profession is doing miraculous things all of the time, but because I am not a medical professional, I have no idea what they may be.”
“Oh, for goodness – look at my passport. It has my birth date. Then, compare that to what you see on your computer screen. You will see very clearly that I was only seven years old when I was run in.”
“Yes. Yes, I see that.”
“So, will you please let me go through the gate now?”
“No. No, I cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
“The fact that you were photographed and fingerprinted indicates that you had developed a criminal mind.”
“What do you mean, ‘criminal mind?’ I was never charged with anything!”
“Perhaps that first encounter with the law led you down a path of crime.”
“Is there anything else on your computer screen? Have I had any interactions with the police since then?”
“Maybe you learned your lesson and haven’t been caught.”
“AAAARRRGH!”
“Now, ma’am, there’s no need to take that tone with me. I’m just doing my job.”
“Would it be okay if I sighed?”
“It wouldn’t help you get into the country, but if it would make you feel better…”
“What is it like? Not being able to appreciate sarcasm?”
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I have nothing to compare it to.”
“Okay. Right. Let me…let me see if I’ve got this straight. You will not allow me to board my plane to Washington because when I was seven, I accidentally sneezed on a cop, who, for whatever reason of his own, took it personally and decided to take me down to his station and fingerprint and photograph me to teach me not to do it again. Is that right?”
“For all I know, you sneezed with intent.”
“Intent? To do what, exactly?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. It’s not for an ordinary man like myself to fathom the criminal mind.”
“I was seven! What possible ‘intent’ could I have had? Sneezing with intent to cry if I didn’t get whatever was tickling it out of my nose? Sneezing with intent to wipe my nose with the sleeve of my dress? Sneezing with intent to go home and play with my dolls?”
“Ma’am, you can try your fancy lawyer arguments all you want, but it won’t change the fact that you had a run-in with the police and I cannot allow you to enter the United States.”
“That’s just…crazy.”
“Ma’am, before you go back home, may I offer you a word of advice?”
“What?”
“Next time you are seven years old, do not sneeze upon an officer of the law. It’s bad karma.”