Happy Birthday to You...

Happy Birthday to You.....

By Arlene Levin  (c) 2019

The highway hum that finally lulled me to sleep stopped.  It was replaced by the rustling of passengers.    My eyes still closed, I clung to my last moments of rest.  The rustling got louder.  The whispering voices grew more distinct.  My crusted eyelids opened slowly.  It was early December, a morning dark, cold and uninviting.  The bus pulled into the immigration/customs checkpoint.  I boarded this bus in Toronto on my way to Chicago for my grandmother's surprise 80th birthday party.  

After an exhausting day of tying in ends for this trip, I was late boarding the midnight bus.  Unexpectedly crowded, the only seat left was at the very back of the bus, next to a window and just in front of the washroom.   The woman sitting next to me seemed nice enough but in a nice way I made it clear I wasn't interested in making a new friend.  I used my soft purse for a pillow, placed it against the window, smiled at my neighbor and got ready for a much-earned rest.

As tired as I was, rest eluded me.   My seat didn't recline.  There was the traffic back and forth to the washroom.  And of course, there was the eventual smell I couldn't escape.  It was 1980, years before I discovered the delight of over the counter sleeping pills for situations like this.  

At the border, the bus' interior lights were unceremoniously turned up full blast.  The custom official got on the bus and told everyone to get off.  Obediently we filed out.  I, of course, was the last in line.

The customs office was painted dark beige made even darker by layers of time.  The lighting was unexpectedly subdued.  Maybe it was because bulbs were burnt out.  Through my sleepless eyes it was all in a haze.

I stepped up to the counter.  The customs official was a man, heavy set, slightly balding, and most likely close to retirement.  It was 6:00 a.m. and he was probably as tired as I was.  During his long career this well-worn customs official probably heard all the possible cross-boarder stories. He began again with me.
"Citizenship?"  
"Canadian"   
"Where were you born?"
"Chicago"
This unexpected answer peaked his interest.
With raised eyebrows and a hard look he said,
"If you were born in Chicago then why are you Canadian?"
Tired, irritable and not thinking clearly, I answered with a very sarcastic and ill-advised response.  "Because I swore allegiance to the Queen".

The customs official's jaw dropped, his eyes widened, his complexion reddened and his expression went from shock to a deep darkening anger.   "I swore allegiance to the Queen."  hung in the air.  At that  moment, I knew and he knew that he could deny me entrance to the country.  I looked into his raging eyes and I knew I was in deep trouble.

My sleeplessness disappeared.  I was crystal clear now and knew what I had to do.  I groveled.  I quickly apologized.  I told him about my last 24 hours.  I told him about my grandmother's 80th surprise birthday party.  I told him 'I really want to go and would really really appreciate being let into the country."

His manner softened slightly.  I was still worried but saw the redness in his face slowly fade.  He said with an understandable growl "I'll let you in this time but you be careful young lady.  From now on show some respect!". "Thank you sooo much.  I thank you.  My family thanks you.   And most of all my 80 year old grandmother thanks you."

Grandma Rose was very surprised to see me at her party.  
"Arlene, how did you get here?"  Though I've told this story many times
she never knew how close I came to missing her party.