Crossed

"Passport please?"

[4:00 P.M., November 11th at an Ontario border crossing just outside of New York]

TSA Agent: Name, sex, date of birth, and home address?

"I believe it's all in that little pamphlet I just handed you."

TSA Agent: I'm not asking because I want to know. I'm asking because I want to know that you know.

"Right.  My name is [REDACTED], my sex is messy and uncoordinated, my date of birth is [REDACTED], and I currently reside at 123 Fake Street, Springfield [REDACTED], USA."

TSA Agent: What was the reason for your visit to our brothers up here in the great white north?

"Business."

TSA Agent: Any citrus fruits, tobacco products, or otherwise elicit substances in the vehicle?

"Fruit?"

TSA Agent: Just answer the question sir.

"No, none of the above.  I was packing a six round bushel of bananas but I tossed the hot citrus before I reached your booth. "

TSA Agent: Any guns, knives, explosives, cutlery, or live ammunition on your person?

"You do realize I just left Canada, right? Also, did you seriously just ask me about fruit before asking if I was packing a ninja star?"

TSA Agent: Yes or no answers please.

"No officer.  No weapons 'on my person'.  I do have a little cutlery, but it's mostly blunt.  Not unlike yourself, officer."

TSA Agent: Anything else to declare?

"Only my love for you."

(The TSA agent glances up from his clipboard and then back down at his checklist.  He lets out a sigh as he writes something down.)

TSA Agent: Care to explain the violin case handcuffed to your wrist?

"What? This old thing? No."

TSA Agent: Care to step out of the car, sir?

"That doesn't strike my fancy either, so no."

TSA Agent: Step out of the car sir.

"Why?"

TSA Agent: You're resisting interrogation and therefore pose a terrorist threat to homeland security.

"Well that escalated quickly."

TSA Agent: I'll give you one more chance to either declare your parcel or forcefully eat boot leather.

"May I ask under which authority you declare me a threat worth putting the boots to medium style?"

TSA Agent: The authority of the American government.

"You're the American government?! I thought you'd be taller."

TSA Agent: I represent the American government, yes.

"Did that position of surrogate gatekeeper of the free world come with a fancy title?"

TSA Agent: I'm a U.S. Border Patrol Agent.  That is my title.

(The professional exhales a long impressed whistle sarcastically)

"Betcha had to go  to a specialized academy to even qualify for this field of work."

TSA Agent: Indeed, and I worked my ass off climbing the ladder that landed me in this position.

"You probably lost touch with family members, friends, and even colleagues that you surpassed as you climbed over them on that ladder."

TSA Agent: And?

"Nothing.  I'm just sure there are a lot of bitter people in your past who don't understand the compromises you've made for your chosen lot in life.  That's quite the professional sacrifice."

TSA Agent: It's all worth it to preserve our freedom and protect our great democratic homeland.  I'm of a special breed, son.

"And yet there are so many of you.  It almost makes you wonder if it's all worth it to forsake friendships and squander away time that could've been spent with loved ones.  Instead you used those precious fleeting hours of your life to earn a title that's so insignificant that it can be printed on a tiny back bar and clipped to the breast pocket of a shirt that probably came in a pack with five others just like it."

TSA Agent: Step out of the car.

"Oh, you're still on about the violin case? me presenting you with a valid argument that you've wasted the prime years of your life sitting in a class room, then behind a desk, only to achieve the grand high poobah position of sitting in a tiny box on the outskirts of Canada hasn't distracted you in the slightest from the fact that I have a stringed instrument handcuffed to my wrist?  No existential crisis? No 'why god why'? no mourning of love lost and loved ones that have perished?"

TSA Agent: Open it or I'll open it for you, and then I'll bend you over this cherry ride of yours and open your asshole cavity.

"Saying 'asshole cavity' is redundant, you know?"

TSA Agent: I'm going to start counting down and if you haven't handed me the case or stepped out of the car by then, I'm feeding you a gun and seeing how many rounds I can pass through the other side of your rectum.

"You are a special breed.  I think it's called an endling? or is it incel? You know what I mean, an individual that prunes the family tree by ending the bloodline."

TSA Agent: 8...7...6...

"What kind of weirdo starts a countdown at eight?"

TSA Agent: 5! 4!

"Okay, okay, you win this game.  I still want you to acknowledge that you definitively lost the game of life though."

TSA Agent: THREE! TWO!

(The Professional un-cuffs the violin case from his wrist and impatiently shoves it into the agent's chest.  The border patrolman sneers momentarily at the aggressive act, and then smirks at the fact that he won this game of chicken.  The patrolman walks to the front of the car and violently drops the violin case down on the hood of the '57 Chevy Bel-Air.)

"I have something else to declare officer.  Umm don't fuck up my car please?"

(The patrolman stares down the professional and then spits on the car hood in disgust.)

"I said please."

(The patrolman snaps open the violin case and cautiously lifts it open.  His eyes narrow with a mixture of relief and annoyance, and then look up from the case to meet the professional's gaze.  The professional shrugs and raps on the steering wheel with his fingers impatiently.)

TSA Agent: Business huh?

"In my defense; I didn't lie to you."

TSA Agent: Gimme a break.

(The border patrolman slams the violin case shut and walks back to his booth with it under his arm.  The professional looks at his watch as the border patrolman takes his time ticking off boxes and stamping his passport.  Not in a rush, the border patrolman slowly walks back to the driver's side and rudely stuffs the violin case and passport through the open window.  He then turns and starts making his slow journey back to his booth.)

"Mind picking up the pace, Comrade? I've got an important appointmentski in glory greatest country with fearless leader regarding moose and squirrel."

(The TSA agent carefully lowers himself back into his office chair, smiling cruelly as he pulls the lever to lift the booth arm.)

TSA Agent: I figured you wasted enough of my time today, why not return the favor?

"Oh yeah, I wasted your time.  That was me that did that.  Hey, have fun sitting here for another six hours waiting for another human being to pass through.  I'm sure your title will keep you company."

(The border patrolman grunts angrily and starts to lethargically rise from his chair.  Before the booth arm is even fully lifted, the professional spins his whitewalls, shooting gravel into the booth as he does so, and peels out underneath the slowly rising dividing arm.  The border patrolman starts to amble toward the Chevy, but catches nothing but the far off glow of the tail lights disappearing in the distance.  Annoyed, the border patrolman dusts off his cheap button up shirt and spit shines his badge, only to pause as he finds a tiny crater with the tip of his finger in the hard black plastic displaying his livelihood.  He lets out a frustrated grumble and heads back toward his booth with his head hung in defeat.  He plops down in his chair and stares blankly at a black and white surveillance monitor showing nothing but the empty world around him.  Suddenly the camera hits time lapse speed.  The clock in the corner of the screen ticks up as the sun rapidly sets behind the undisturbed border patrolman loafing around in the same spot as the hours diminish.  The fast forwarded footage begins to slow.  The sound of crickets confirms that we are now in real time.)

[11:00 P.M., November 11th at an Ontario border crossing just outside of New York]

TSA Agent: Wait...was that guy wearing a mask?