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Think the U.S. border with Mexico is wild and crazy? Take it from a veteran Canadian border crosser: try Canada one of these days. Armed guards running around, harsh French language, vicious crackdowns on Dr. Pepper smuggling. Oooh, the excitement!

I don't even know why they pulled me aside when I crossed into Quebec last week. My answers to the grim-faced official just weren't acceptable, I suppose. They like pat answers that fit into an understandable, non-threatening category and my answers are a little sketchier than most. "What is your purpose for coming to Canada?" "Tourism. Um, also to visit my girlfriend, you know." "You're girlfriend's Canadian? How did you meet her?" "Um... online. Through, like, mutual friends, sort of." "How long will you be staying in Canada?" "For about a month... (Official's eyebrows rise) um, well, I have a condo rented. I mean, the lease goes to the end of January, but I'll be coming back to the States for Christmas anyway, so I'll be coming back in a month." "What do you do for work?" "Accounting. Well... see, I'm currently unemployed but my background is in accounting anyway."

At that point he wrote some mysterious notes on a little yellow card for about 89 minutes. I tried to peer at the card to see if I could recognize the French words for "Obvious smuggler. Possible terrorist. Detain and perform body cavity search." Then he told me to pull off to the parking area on the side and go inside to the offices for further processing.

I pulled off to the side, groaning lightly, then went inside to face another official and his laundry list of questions. I stammered my way through a few thousand more answers that sounded irretrievably lame, and just when I thought I was about to be led into the back room to see their "special agent" and his assortment of dental surgery tools, the official said I was all set, I just needed a visa that limited my time in Canada to Dec. 25th. Message sent: "Ok, you can come into our country, but we prefer to celebrate Christmas without annoying Americans around." Understandable, I suppose.

Printing up the visa document took a half hour, which was 29 minutes longer than he said. Then I was free to go. But here's where I decided to take the road less traveled. I headed over to the duty free store to grab a bottle of Baileys. Hey, why not? No taxes on that, it's right there across the street, and there are always short lines. Very short lines. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen another customer in that

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