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A weekend with anti-American Canadians

Column: Voice of defiance

By Chris Gray

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Published: Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Updated: Sunday, February 14, 2010

"Say, uh, ya wanna go to Canada?" Oxford was a 5 o'clock shadow as we pulled out last Friday. Hunger called from the highway, and we got off at Wapakoneta white ball for a taste of the ultra-waffle. I ate to the tune of horse sirloin steak and white-yolk runny eggies as jukebox Seal gave us a big sloppy kiss from a rose on the gray. Back on I-75, we rode out of Ohio and into the blue states under the cover of darkness before tunneling out of the country completely. Waved on through to Canadian exile, we ditched the car in the bowels of the casino and pondered the next predicament. "So, are we gonna get a hotel?" asked Connecticut. "Ah, um, I was thinking we could meet someone and uh maybe crash with them, mmkay?" Chiller said . Our mission: find a nice, warm pillow to lay our weary heads on. At a pillow-fighting pub, Connecticut found a covey of local women. Score, a roof o'er our heads. "They stopped talking after I told them I was American." And as we left, a group of six girls asked Chiller for some rolling papers. "Our friend just turned 19." "Really, in America, we -" "AMERICANS!! You get away from me!" Then came the punches. And the kicks. Chiller was down on the ground. Security came. "If you guys don't get out of here, we're gonna call the police." We yanked him down the street, leaving as they shouted, "Four eyes." At a club later, it was the same taunts. Chiller was having a rough row of things. Hmm, hmm. Cleopatra's Massage? Eh? "Sixty dollar for massage, then anything else we talk in room, OK?" Connecticut and I declined, but Layla, pouring out of her shirt, had Chiller at his knees. "Ninety dollars, and I didn't even get a massage, let alone anything extra. A kiss, that was it. I feel so used," said Chiller as we retreated at 6 to a cold night slept in a Cavalier. After a few hours of non-sleep, we tried to get back across the border. Country of Origin? Pause. Um, United States. Where'd you guys spend the night? Um. Um, um, a hotel. Do you have a receipt? No. Did you pay cash? "Did you drink coffee?!!" "Um, no, um, no, sir, we just, um, woke up." "Open the trunk." He searched the trunk, rummaged the bags, found nothing. "I'm gonna let you guys cross, but if you ever try this again, we're gonna hold you here for a couple hours." What was that? Hey, we got through, OK. Now to Hell, Mich., where we could sleep at my grents' cottage. We took Michigan Avenue and stopped for gas in deepest Detroit. A man walks up to us from a bus stop. Y'all from Ohio? Y'all smoke bud? Chiller, moving right over to him: "Mmm, yass, not really in the market, but-" "Here, here just take the rest of this, I have a bus to catch." Chiller caught the last of the smoulder. I stood beside him, pumping gas.

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