The Border Patrol were busy little bees yesterday at the height of an elevated alert in the San Diego region!
Rather than cruise along the same highways I facilitated about ten days ago to attend the AFI Fest (Dallas) , I threw caution to the wind and let an adventurous spirit lead the way.
Well, my guide must have been a surly confidant of Uncle Sam!
The trek along highways 30, 20, and 10 were uneventful enough - but when I headed down the last leg of my journey homeward bound on Highway 8 (west to San Diego) - I got more than I bargained for.
Sure, some of the landscape was picturesque (more on that in a follow-up post) but had I known the Border Patrol would be buzzin' up my a** throughout the day, I would have taken another less burdensome route.
For example, about twenty minutes after I crossed the California border, a white vehicle with a green emblem on the side panel sped up behind me out-of-the-blue.
At first, I thought it was a Military vehicle.
As it raced on by to official business elsewhere, I spied the name of the Government agency out-of-the-corner of my eye.
Border Patrol.
I'd heard a lot about the all-powerful (overzealous?) elite force run by Homeland Security, but - like many Americans - managed to steer clear of 'em.
I guess my number was up.
About ten miles up the road, a flashing neon sign forewarned that there may be a stop ahead, and that drivers should be ready for a vehicle inspection.
As I inched closer, and my heart beat faster (next to my Green Card in a wallet inside my chest pocket), I noticed a couple of cars parked at the side of the road.
A handful of diligent officers were sifting through a lot of dirty laundry, camping equipment, left-over lunch, and what-have-you.
In addition, a couple of passengers in the car in front of me were being questioned quite vigorously, by a young lady in a green field jacket and spiffy pantaloons.
Gosh, the babe was packing a gun!
When I pulled up, she jawned, and waved me through.
Yeah, no one's interested in wrinkly old white dudes.
Just ask Paris Hilton!
Just as I started to pick up speed and managed to tick off a few miles to compensate for lost time, there was another lull in traffic as vehicles were instructed to slow down - and if necessary - stop for an Officer.
As luck would have it, the man in front of me must have looked suspicious, because he got flagged right off-the-bat.
I sat in my own SUV and waited for the interrogation to end as I twiddled my thumbs.
At one juncture, a hefty middle-aged woman in baggy shorts and matching vest - wearing an official-looking badge emblazoned on the front of her "butch" uniform (Lesbo?) - strode to the back of the pick-up, hauled herself over the back gate of the truck bed, and proceeded to inspect a cooler inside.
Satisfied there was nothing untoward in there, she hopped out.
Now, with a nervous hand, the driver handed over a couple of oranges he plucked out of the glove compartment out of harm's way 'til now.
The meticulous gal gave them a once over, plunked 'em down on her makeshift table at the side of the road, then proceeded to jot down his license plate number.
I guess if they decide to bust the disreputable fellow for smuggling, they'll lock him up in a holding cell where they detain all the "fruits" incarcerated in the prison population.
Once again, I was waved through with little fuss.
I thought the rude interruptions had all dried up at about the witching hour.
No, sir!
Next up?
A search for drugs!
When the vehicle in front pulled up to a line marked on the pavement at the check point, a police dog was inclined to jump up from his snug perch by the Guard's station, then trot up to driver's side of the vehicle to sniff a little.
Nada!
Now, the dog handler turned in my direction with a slightly bemused look on his face.
Was I the culprit who piqued the dog's curiosity?
I inched forward, then stopped, so the dog and I were in line with each other.
Then, without any qualms, I stared directly into the animal's eyes and gave him a look as if to say:
"I'm not in the mood for your nonesense, so don't get any ideas, Bowser!"
He moved on.
If you can believe it, I also encountered another "border check" in an out-of-the-way pass on the way in to the San Diego area just about midnight.
A ubiquitous sign was posted on the gate for the tired and the humbled masses to peruse as they awaited their fate.
It read - "Homeland Security using tax dollars to protect Americans against the threat of Terrorism" - or something to that effect.
Again, travellers in vehicles ahead of me were stopped and questioned, but I was waved through.
I guess it was because I was driving a Ford, do 'ya think?
