overeducated & understimulated

“Good morning, sir,”  I say to the U.S. customs official, as I hand over passports for our carload of eager geocachers.

“Would you take off the sunglasses, please?” he answers.

“Oh, sorry, of course.” I am still smiling.

“Where do you live?”

“Quispamsis, New Brunswick,” I answer brightly.

“What is your purpose for visiting the U.S.?”

“Oh, just some hiking, I guess,” I hedge, not wanting to use the word geocaching in case he’s a Muggler.

“Will you be leaving anything in the U.S., ma’am?” he asks.

“Ummm … no,” I start, but honesty get the better of me.  “Well, I mean, yes, but it’s just a little trackable device, well, not a device, actually more of an …. item …,”  I trail off, wondering why I didn’t just say  No.

“What sort of trackable device?” his eyes narrow suspiciously.

“It’s nothing, really, just …,” I backpedal, somehow without stammering.

“Would you please step out of the vehicle, ma’am?”

No geocachers were strip-searched in the imagining of this scenario!