This weekend I went to America. Or I left America. I’m not really sure which. But there were stupid people there who said stupid things.
In Publix on Saturday I tried to pass myself off as a Real American with my cart full of Tastycakes and Cheetos. But the cashier was young, blonde, and highly trained. As I handed her a fistful of American dollars and a dime she immediately detected my un-Americanishness.
She clutched the dime and licked her lips excitedly. She held the dime up to the light for a moment until she appeared to remember that coins don’t have watermarks. She turned the coin back and forth in her hand, squinting thoughtfully, then announced to me and everyone within a 10 mile radius, “This dime is CANADIAN. I can’t take it.”
I gave her my best raised eyebrows and said “Uhhhhhhh, why not?”
“Because this is America! And we use American money here,” she said.
She was serious.
I muttered a bit, dug around for another dime, ignored her when she told me to have a good day, and left the store feeling defeated Canadian.
Back at my car, as I loaded in my groceries I thought about how many times I would not use my turn signals on the way home. I made the 10 minute journey back to Canadia, where I spent the night saying “eh”, drinking Molson and listening to the Tragically Hip.