“When was the last time you were arrested Mr. Rose-Garcia?”
The Canadian border patrol agent was nothing like I wanted him to be.
No goofy pants, no funny hat, not even a smile on his sharp face.
“umm…..god….it would have to be in 2005….tresspassing?”
he shakes his head
I am 30 minutes away from Vancouver with only 40 minutes until I am supposed to be singing on a stage and I am going to have to explain one of the stranger stories of my life to a total stranger.
Basically, In 2005 I had what some would call a “mental break”….its fair to say that I went crazy….crazy enough to land me in a loony bin for three days, but what do I tell this border agent? Do they not let ex crazies into Canada?
I am calmly stressing out.
After a long luxurious day running through the streets of Seattle I am now stranded with a late start, fully prepared to miss my only show in another country. I am hungry and this is way more intense than it needs to be.
Well Mr. Border Man….I went crazy ape shit and rambled through the streets doing wizard magic and hunting for a wife that Ive never had, I broke into a house, had a gun put to my head, and talked to angels….can I please enter Canada now?
I explain this odd circumstance in simpler legal terms while he watches for signs of fear.
Luckily enough I wear my old insanity like some sort of permanent ink and prevail over the scrutiny of Canada.
Still, at this point all is lost, I am rapidly losing time and feel as though the ground is crumbling away from me.
I cuss my professionalism, I cuss my romantic lingering, cuss cuss cuss.
I speed up to the venue a good 15 minutes after my set time and leap out of the car cussing away, fully prepared for the hell to fall upon my head.
Instead I enter an unreasonably upscale gigantic club full of excited people eager to shake my hand.
What is this?
Turns out they have simply shifted everything around allowing me to play later to a larger crowd. No one is angry, the food is amazing, the club is movie grade, and the night blooms into the best show of the tour.
I hit the stage with all of the anger, fear, and relief riding on my shoulders and the crowd explodes. Dancing erupts, screams, fans, insanity.
The Canadians apologize for everything.
“Here is a free beer, I’m sorry”
“Here is five dollars, I’m sorry”
It is confusing and endearing, it feels like I could punch someone and they would apologize to me.
This was not expected, this was not planned, it turns out that the time wasted at the border was the glory gained at the club.
It turns out that nothing is wasted and every part of the buffalo is devoured.
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