I learned two important lessons from my first trip to Canada.

1. Cops are assholes in every country.

2. There is a reason the bus only costs $1.

***

I got onto a double-decker Megabus at Port Authority (New York) around 7:00 p.m. I’d never taken a bus anywhere. Not even school. But there is something romantic about the bus. I always looked at the silhouettes sitting in the windows with a feeling of missing out. Where were they going? Omaha? Richmond? So, when my editor in Toronto called me and invited me for the weekend, I bought the Megabus ticket with a kind of pride, the big blue bus with fares for $1. I stood at the counter with my passport and a bag and knew that bus would take me somewhere I’d never been. I would see the whole country roll by, and then I would go beyond it.

My editor also requested I bring Adderall. As much as I could find. Apparently doctors in Canada don’t send you home with pillowcases full of pills like they do in America (I had three lying around so I packed those into the loose binding of an old novel).

The point of booking the late bus was to get some sleep overnight. I wanted to arrive in Toronto rested enough to party non-stop for the next three days.

You learn very quickly that the bus is part of your penance for being poor.

***

I went to the top floor and looked around. Young mothers collapsed onto seats and fed their kids handfuls of candy before turning them loose. The kids swung from the luggage bars and ran up and down the center aisle practicing war chants, or maybe future prison riots. A few seats in front of me there was a hot Polish girl (I saw her passport) who looked exactly like the ex-girlfriend I was still in love with. She grabbed a bag of Skittles from one of the mothers and said, “You’ll get this back at the end of the trip.”

The first floor would’ve been the better move. It was completely taken over by senior-aged Asians. They didn’t make any noise. They were cute and old and sat in pairs and watched videos together on cellphones while sharing a set of earbuds.

I gave up trying to sleep pretty quickly and pulled out my laptop. I figured I could at least watch a movie, but my wi-fi never worked. A cell phone rang from the seat behind me, loudly, and kept ringing. Finally, a woman picked it up:

Conversation (at full volume).

Yeah, this is Tammy … you like my profile? … that’s cute … yeah, I’m just on a bus, I can talk now …. I do, I’ve got kids … you’ve got four? Damn, I got four of them … well if we get married or something we’ll have to tell em they brother and sister before they start getting each other pregnant … haha you know? … yeah, I’m sure I can talk now … heading back to Buffalo … this whole country ain’t no place to raise kids. No morals … everyone’s out for themselves … people do look mad … well fuck ’em … no morals ….

I turned my head to see if anyone else thought this phone call broke the sanctity of commuter ethics. No one cared.

Our first drop-off was around midnight in Syracuse. A few women got off the bus with their kids. The electricity shut off when the bus stopped but all the lights went on. Suddenly all those old people downstairs grew real restless.

From my position, I could see the door of the first-floor bathroom. Two men sitting across from each other got up at the same time and walked into the single stall together. It was mathematically impossible for two people to fit in this thing, but there must be positions I’ve never seen because the sign switched to “Occupied” and I didn’t hear any complaining.

When the bus started driving, we took two hard dips in a pothole. One of the men came out of the bathroom happy as a clam. A minute later the other did the same. A woman got up and went into the bathroom. The door wasn’t even shut before she started backing out like a rabid animal had been let loose in there. I heard her voice trembling as she disappeared under my floor, “On the bus? No. No. No.”

I opened up a fresh Word document and was trying to think of a story about what the two men could’ve been doing together. I typed one letter and the bus’s intercom came on. It was the driver: “Excuse me! Whoever is responsible for the mess in the bathroom should feel … that is not my job …THAT IS NOT MY JOB … I’m disappointed in every single one of you!”

***

We drove in to Buffalo at 4 A.M. All the moms and kids finally left. A lady dressed like a nun ran up the stairs to the second floor. She had dyed-blue hair, so I didn’t think she was a real nun but it’s a new world so you never know. Her head was whipping around in a panic, and she grabbed a Megabus employee who was sitting up by the front.

Nun: Where am I? WHERE AM I RIGHT NOW?

Employee: Buffalo (he seemed unsure).

Nun: Buffalo? Do you swear?

Employee: Yes.

Nun: OK. Buffalo is where I need to be.

She skipped off the bus into downtown Buffalo like it was the place she’d been waiting for her whole life. The Polish girl looked at me and laughed. I laughed. This was my chance! I moved to the seat in front of her and we lay across our seats and laughed together like a yin-yang necklace coming back together.

Then the bus driver was on the intercom again: “We will be at the Canadian border in ten minutes. The bus will be unloaded, and everyone will go into the office.”

She told me her name was Veronika with a K and I asked Veronika if she thought the border guys would search all of my stuff. She said they definitely would. I took the three Adderall I was smuggling (30 milligrams each) and held them in my hand. I figured if things got hairy I could just eat them. I gave Veronika a business card and told her I’d just been arrested at Occupy Wall Street, and if I didn’t come back to please call my mother.

***

You’ve been taught Canadians are your welcoming neighbors, but the border looks like something built to counter an alien invasion. You can see it for miles. Huge burning floodlights blind the landscape and every bug in three states is drawn to the glow. They stand you single file outside of a building and shout orders at you. And when they bring you inside, you’re placed in front of several men, all eight feet tall, wanting nothing more than for you to hiccup wrong so they can send you to the gallows.

As soon as I saw what I was up against I pretended to sneeze and shoved the three Adderall in my mouth. I was so dry and nervous I had to punch myself in the chin to swallow them down. All the Canadians went right through. None of the Asian couples had paperwork and their conversations with border patrol went like this.

Guard: I DON’T SPEAK YOUR LANGUAGE.

Them: Bunch of un-translated stuff.

Guard: ARE YOU KOREAN? ARE YOU MARRIED (making a ring on a finger motion).

Them: (Mimics motion.)

Guard: OK, they’re good, let them pass.

When I saw this, I regretted eating all the Adderall. I was a documented citizen of a country, with a passport, and I spoke English. What could go wrong?

Guard: Where were you September 9, 2003?

Me: Well ….

Guard: It says you were arrested for selling marijuana.

Me: Oh no. The case got thrown out and no one was ever supposed to see that.

Guard: Where were you December 15, 2006?

Me: Well ….

Guard: It says you were arrested for trespassing.

Me: Also a big misunderstanding that was supposed to disappear.

He stepped back and pushed a door open. I walked through. I sat on a bench where other people in my position had carved feelings of despair: swastikas, phone numbers, ACAB, 1312, etc.

About twenty minutes passed. 90 milligrams of Adderall were kicking in. I could feel blood vessels bursting. I was on Canadian soil. If they told me to go home it wouldn’t be on foot. I’d have to be officially deported across the border back to America.

This would be harder to explain on my next trip to Canada.

There was one other prisoner in the room with me. He paced back and forth while I chewed my fingernails off. A woman cop came in and interviewed him.

Cop: So, you don’t remember assaulting him with a weapon? A bottle?

Prisoner: No.

Cop: You don’t remember going to court and being found guilty?

Prisoner: No.

Then he put his shoulder down like a battering ram and took off for the door. Cops started appearing out of nowhere and chased him around the room, but he was slippery, I could tell he was really good at being a criminal. They finally tackled him but one of the cops caught me with his boot and knocked me off the bench.

Two strong hands reached down and pulled me up.

Cop: It says you were arrested last October in New York.

Me: Yeah. I was at Occupy Wall Street. But the case got thrown out.

Cop: Why?

Me: The Judge heard what the cops had done.

Cop: They were doing their jobs. Is that your problem, you don’t like people with jobs? What are you, another Socialist?

Me: No. Not at all.

Cop: Good.

Me: I’m a Marxist.

I winked at him. He didn’t smile. He just stared at me and didn’t blink. Shut up – I said to myself – This is Adderall talking now, not you. Don’t let him bait you.

Cop: Why are you coming to Canada?

Me:  To visit a friend.

Cop: A girlfriend?

Me:  No. We’ve actually never met.

Cop: Are you coming to cause a domestic disturbance?

Me:  No.

Cop: Are they Occupiers? Are you here to overthrow the government?

Me:  No.

Cop: How much money do you have?

Me:  $60.

Cop: You’re coming to another country with $60?

Me:  Well, my friend is rich. She’ll pay for my food.

Cop: Do you have a job?

Me:  No.

Cop: Do you have a wife or children?

Me:  No.

Cop: When are you leaving?

Me: I don’t know.

Cop: What does your return pass say?

Me: I don’t have one yet.

He walked away and spoke to another cop. They came back and took my camera from my bag. They turned it on and went through every picture. Then they turned on my laptop. I was sweating with big obvious drops. I was so thirsty. Little pieces of white curd were forming along my lips.

Cop: Our concern is that you are coming here to panhandle.

Me: Panhandle? I have a MacBook Pro!

He stapled a document into my passport.

He said: You are banned from Canada. This piece of paper says that you are allowed in on a temporary basis. It needs to be returned by you in three days at a border or there will be a warrant for your arrest.

Me: But the bus doesn’t stop at the Canadian side on the way home. They won’t stop until the New York side.

Cop: If you ever want to see Canada again, you’ll have to get off and walk back.

The cop escorted me back to the bus. Apparently, by law, the bus wasn’t allowed to leave without me. Three hours had passed. Everyone sat in their seats bleary eyed and so close to home. Even the nice ones looked ready to bite me. Except Veronika. She took me out for breakfast when we got to Toronto and paid for it. Then she let me crash for a few hours in her apartment just off the Kensington Market.

***

I’d left New York on a balmy 78 degree evening. I hadn’t even thought to pack a jacket. The morning my bus pulled out of Toronto it was 28 degrees and snowing.

My bus driver wouldn’t stop at the Canadian border and let me out. At the American side, I got off the bus and walked about ten feet back toward Canada. But there was a Great Lake in-between us. And it was snowing. And I wasn’t sure if it was even possible to walk on a road across a Great Lake anyway.

When it was my turn with a U.S. border guard I showed him my passport. I explained the document that had been stapled inside and the directions I had been given about returning it.

He didn’t take it from me.

Cop: What did you want to go to Canada for?

Me:  To see Canada.

Cop: Why would you want to see Canada?

Me:  Because … it exists?

He told me that I could get back on the bus and go home. I sat down and slept straight through to New York City. I Googled Canada the next day and got a number.

I called.

Canada: Hello?

Me: Hi. Is this … Canada?

Canada: Yes.

I gave my name and explained the document and how because of a snowstorm I hadn’t been able to return it.

Canada: Yes, you are definitely banned.

Me: Banned? Forever?

Canada: Yes.

Me: Couldn’t I just come back and that would prove that I left?

Canada: Only if you want to go to jail.

Me: Thanks Canada.

Canada: You’re welcome.

I was finally an outlaw, but it didn’t feel as cool as I’d always thought it would.

My editor said this was a big problem. My father said, “You shouldn’t spend your money in other countries, anyway.”

I went to bed that night and tried to forget about everything.

Almost everything. Not Veronika.