Canada Is a Silly Place (Le Canada est un endroit bête)
Hey buddy, your tallest building is a glorified TV antenna!
I drove to Buffalo this past weekend to hang out with my friend Doug, who was my roommate for two years prior to my accident. Doug moved to Buffalo last summer to take an administrative position in the athletic department at the University of Buffalo. I left on Friday afternoon around 4pm, making my way to Buffalo via Windsor, Ontario and re-entering the United States at Niagara, New York. Sunday, we drove up to Toronto to see the Tigers play the Blue Jays at the Rogers Centre (aka “used to be the Sky Dome”). As far as road trips are concerned, the drive itself isn’t anything to write home about; including an hour break to grab something to eat, I arrived in Buffalo in a pedestrian seven hours and I was back home again by Sunday evening at 9:30pm—a far cry from long distance trips I’ve taken in the past: Michigan to L.A. in 34 hours, por ejemplo. But since most of the travel took place across Ontario there were sufficient Canadian cultural idiosyncrasies to keep my brain occupied because Canada after all, it is a silly place.
First of all: Border crossings.
“Why are you entering Canada today?”
“I’m driving to Buffalo?”
“Are you driving straight through?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you going to Buffalo?”
Why is that any of your business? “I’m visiting a friend.”
“Are you bringing any illegal firearms, drugs or alcohol with you into Canada today?”
Nothing anybody would want to buy. “No.”
On the way back on Sunday, crossing the border at Port Huron:
“Are you bringing any food with you across the border today?”
“No.”
“What’s that?”
Thinking she’s pointing to the Wendy’s cup in my cup holder, “This?”
“No, the thing on your steering wheel.”
“It’s a hand control.”
Blank stare.
“I drive with my hands, not my feet.”
More blank staring.
“I’m in a wheelchair.” Is that not visibly apparent? My god, open your eyes, man! Our national security is at risk here!
Secondly: Coins.
Canadian money is blue, or at least the small denomination bills I saw were blue. That’s fine. I like looking at foreign currency. I find it intriguing. But the coins! Coins are a pain in the ass. I can’t access my pockets to store coins and handling coins usually means dropping them. Thus, I’ve basically given up on trying to execute exact change transactions in my monetary dealings. The only coins I have much use for are good old U.S. Quarter Dollars and that’s only because I need them to do laundry. Any change I get inevitably ends up in my lap and that which hits the floor, unless it’s an aforementioned quarter, I’m not worried about going after it. In Canada however, that mass of coins getting handed back to me could be anything short of $5, and now dropping change on the floor is eating into potential contributions towards my retirement savings.
Third: Mr. Sub and New York Fries.
Mr. Sub is the scab Canadian equivalent of Subway. Equivalent, in that, it isn’t as good as Subway (which really isn’t that good to begin with). The menu boasts the Great Canadian Club. Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, guys, but the club sandwich was invented in America. Mr. Sub is what you eat if you don’t want to wait in line behind the masses at the same Wendy’s or Tim Horton's at every service plaza along the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way. By the way, how long are you guys going to let the British push you around anyway?). That is unless the service plaza has a New York Fries, because if there is one thing New York City is known for it’s their famous French fry vendors. Especially, French fries served with mayonnaise and vinegar. Good old Brooklyn-style French fries. I recommend calling it New York Chips, might as well lay your cultural influence conundrums right out there for everyone to see. In hindsight, New York Fries claims to have New York roots, but I’m choosing to ignore that.
Lastly, for now: Ontario’s 100 km/h Speed Limit.
Although I prefer miles per hour to kilometers per hour—drive 60 mph, drive a mile a minute—I do enjoy the psychological illusion that kilometers seem to go by faster. But forcing me to drive all those klicks at 100 km/h? Well, that’s got to go. It’s slow and it’s pointless. I’m sure the slow speed limit is intended to encourage safer driving, but it’s Ontario. There’s nothing to hit. A few years ago my friends and I drove across Canada to the Canadian Rockies and this is what most of that looked like. Ontario looks mostly like that but with a few more trees. So no one drives 100 km/h.
First of all: Border crossings.
“Why are you entering Canada today?”
“I’m driving to Buffalo?”
“Are you driving straight through?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you going to Buffalo?”
Why is that any of your business? “I’m visiting a friend.”
“Are you bringing any illegal firearms, drugs or alcohol with you into Canada today?”
Nothing anybody would want to buy. “No.”
On the way back on Sunday, crossing the border at Port Huron:
“Are you bringing any food with you across the border today?”
“No.”
“What’s that?”
Thinking she’s pointing to the Wendy’s cup in my cup holder, “This?”
“No, the thing on your steering wheel.”
“It’s a hand control.”
Blank stare.
“I drive with my hands, not my feet.”
More blank staring.
“I’m in a wheelchair.” Is that not visibly apparent? My god, open your eyes, man! Our national security is at risk here!
Secondly: Coins.
Canadian money is blue, or at least the small denomination bills I saw were blue. That’s fine. I like looking at foreign currency. I find it intriguing. But the coins! Coins are a pain in the ass. I can’t access my pockets to store coins and handling coins usually means dropping them. Thus, I’ve basically given up on trying to execute exact change transactions in my monetary dealings. The only coins I have much use for are good old U.S. Quarter Dollars and that’s only because I need them to do laundry. Any change I get inevitably ends up in my lap and that which hits the floor, unless it’s an aforementioned quarter, I’m not worried about going after it. In Canada however, that mass of coins getting handed back to me could be anything short of $5, and now dropping change on the floor is eating into potential contributions towards my retirement savings.
Third: Mr. Sub and New York Fries.
Mr. Sub is the scab Canadian equivalent of Subway. Equivalent, in that, it isn’t as good as Subway (which really isn’t that good to begin with). The menu boasts the Great Canadian Club. Yeah, sorry to burst your bubble, guys, but the club sandwich was invented in America. Mr. Sub is what you eat if you don’t want to wait in line behind the masses at the same Wendy’s or Tim Horton's at every service plaza along the QEW (Queen Elizabeth Way. By the way, how long are you guys going to let the British push you around anyway?). That is unless the service plaza has a New York Fries, because if there is one thing New York City is known for it’s their famous French fry vendors. Especially, French fries served with mayonnaise and vinegar. Good old Brooklyn-style French fries. I recommend calling it New York Chips, might as well lay your cultural influence conundrums right out there for everyone to see. In hindsight, New York Fries claims to have New York roots, but I’m choosing to ignore that.
Lastly, for now: Ontario’s 100 km/h Speed Limit.
Although I prefer miles per hour to kilometers per hour—drive 60 mph, drive a mile a minute—I do enjoy the psychological illusion that kilometers seem to go by faster. But forcing me to drive all those klicks at 100 km/h? Well, that’s got to go. It’s slow and it’s pointless. I’m sure the slow speed limit is intended to encourage safer driving, but it’s Ontario. There’s nothing to hit. A few years ago my friends and I drove across Canada to the Canadian Rockies and this is what most of that looked like. Ontario looks mostly like that but with a few more trees. So no one drives 100 km/h.
Final trip stats: 773 miles (1243.9 km) round trip, 221 songs on the iPod (shuffle play), $150 in gas.
6 comments:
Get some facts straight.
Canadian money is blue, purple, red, brown (every bill is a different colour). Not just blue.
There are tons of Subways around, just open your eyes, Mr Sub is just another competitor.
You can get pulled over and fined for less then 120km/h, it doesn't start at 120. Your complete analogy is flawed.
Posts like these remind me how ignorant some Americans can be.
Trailer park trash should stay south.
I know I totally agree with you, Mr. Sub what the heck is that? I actually walked into one once in Manitoba and I swear I actually seen tumble weed floating around the building (can you say stimulus anyone). I used to live there they ( Canadians) say that Americans are arrogant, I have never seen so much in my life Europe loves us... yeah who are you trying to convince us or yourselves? I mean you guys are like the beaten puppy dog please love me please pathetic. Europe loves us (canada) right sniff sniff whimper whimper.
Funny post, though Er, um, don't judge Canada by Southern Ontario and especially not Toronto.That would be like visiting 1 or 2 of the New England states and claiming to have a good handle on all of the US. I think most Canadians would agree that Southern Ontario is a silly place.
As for money being different colours...sorry, colors...it allows you to know how much money you have at a glance.
US border guard ask equally inane questions, except that most scream them like a drill sergeant out of Full Metal Jacket.... good for a chuckle, just don't let them catch you laughing.
I agree with the dude who says americans can be ignorant! They act like we are aliens! They tell stories and facts like we are a new found species! Honestly, I live in southern Ontario. Yes it is silly but in case anyone didn't notice being silly rocks! We don't say aboot, very few of us live in igloo's, and barely anyone says "eh?"! I have no hard feeling towards americans, but we are not that weird and the tables can be turned onto you! So stop wishing u were born Canadian and go play some hockey!!
Whats so wrong aboot saying eh? Eh?
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