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It was a long fall day. We were all in line for a poke (“weebie,” with a dash of “yada yada yada”). I eat 20 a day.
Somebody to my left started talking at the counter, “Yeah, I’ve got an even better (clap) coming through here real soon.” The buzzer was beeping. Next up, the women’s. They were wonderful; I’m just jealous. The line snaked all the way to the door. We boarded, and as we handed our names and order in person to the checkout guys, I smiled. I can’t say I never met a more welcoming group. It’s like visiting old friends, but these people didn’t know who I was.
Despite my shyness, I made for the back to where my friends were seated. I saw them greet a couple of Canadians, and I looked around the room. There were other would-be tourists as well.
I left my friends and went to my own line. The wait was over an hour. Not a bad time, but also not the best time. There are people here who come from places far away, and some people stand in line for hours just to get back into Canada. I am lucky. Maybe it’s the food, the hills, the people who ask where to put their camera. I don’t even need to tell them where to put their camera. It’s free.