Trouble in the Great White North

December 30, 2008 by Johnny

My friend Chet McGovernson is one of those people to whom amazing things happen. And by amazing, I mean fucked up.

Chet has never won the lottery. He’s never been “discovered” by a top talent agent for his outstanding ability to… to… eat Kluski noodles, for instance. He’s never found a Rembrandt at a garage sale or discovered a chest full of gold doubloons while scuba diving. In fact, Chet doesn’t own a scuba suit at all. Not even one.

No, Chet is the guy who comes to a stoplight, looks over, and sees a clown in the next car, in full makeup and hair, smoking a cigarette and swearing. He’s the guy who sets the gas cap on top of his trunk and drives off, but then literally stumbles over that same gas cap a week later halfway across town. He’s the guy who sees a band with a spastic singer named Ron House, makes dumb jokes several times a day about Ron House for months, and then sees Ron House in another city, behind the counter at a store, eating a McDonald’s salad.

I think we all know someone who has created homemade Mother’s Day cards, cut and pasted the dictionary’s definition of “mother” into the cards, sent the cards to literally every single mother and grandmother of anyone he even remotely knows, and then discovers only after sending them out that he accidentally included the definition below “mother” as well, which just happens to be “motherfucker.” Chet is that guy, too.

So when I heard that Chet had gotten busted by Canadian customs, I actually wasn’t surprised at all. Not because he was trafficking drugs or smuggling Mexicans, but because he’s just that guy.

Before I go any further, I want to warn you that you are going to think I’m making this story up. I swear I am not.

Anyway, you already sort of know Chet, who I realize now I accidentally called “Chuck” throughout all of this post. You know him because he used to work at Mr. P’s Barn. In fact, the McGovernsons are rather close to Mr. P. for a reason I’ve never been able to uncover, which is probably why they knew that he wasn’t dead. Chet’s mother Stacy used to pretty much run the Barn. I think there might be a fractured love affair in there somewhere, possibly between Chet and bacon.

Or between Chet and Mr. P’s Ford Bronco.

Chet loved to drive Mr. P’s Bronco. So it was actually convenient when, each year, Mr. P. would head to Florida for the winter and leave his Bronco at home. To keep it in shape, he asked the McGovernsons to drive it on occasion. Chet was always happy to oblige. He’d drive it to the store. To Long John Silver’s. To his classes at the university. And to Canada.

Where you’d think the guards would know about him and his random, pointless visits. But they did not.

“Citizenship?” asked the man in the booth.

“American.”

“Are you carrying any cigarettes or alcohol?”

Chet pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Just these.”

“Purpose in Canada?”

Chet literally had no purpose whatsoever.

He told the agent, “No purpose whatsoever.”

The agent was confused. Most people come over to gamble. To shop. To sightsee. To visit. So he asked a follow-up: “How long will you be staying?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a half-hour.”

“And you’re going to…?”

Chet shrugged amiably. “I just want to drive around.”

Suspicious, the agent turned to his second-tier questions. “What do you do for a living?”

At the time, Chet was a student. But as he didn’t currently have a job, he said, “I’m unemployed.”

“I see. Is this your car?”

Chet frowned. “Sort of.”

“May I see your license and registration?”

Chet pulled out the registration and his license, and handed them to the guard.

The man in the booth looked from one document to the other. “This is not your car.”

“No. No it is not.”

“Whose car is it?”

“It’s my boss’s car.”

Here’s where Chet’s astonishing ability to fuck things up catches up with him. The guard said, “You said you were unemployed.”

Chet knew by now that his answers weren’t up to par, but he couldn’t put his finger on a way to explain his way out. He could have told the agent that he had a boss during the summers, but he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “It’s… um… my mom’s friend’s car.”

The guard nodded. “Okay. Where is your mom’s friend?”

Chet answered with blunt honesty: “I have no idea.”

“When will he be back?”

“No clue.”

Chet’s the guy who amazing things happen to. He’s the guy whose two-man ensemble, “Lol’s ‘87 Hairdew,” gets banned from a coffee house because “you make customers go away,” leaving him to cart around a dead amplifier in his freezing truck all winter long. He’s the guy who loses a hundred pounds by biking every day, decides on whim to take a day off, then immediately regains 100 pounds during several months of lethargy.

The customs agent said, “Are you at least insured on this car?”

Chet wasn’t sure. There was supposed to have been a rider, seeing as Mr. P. left the Bronco with the McGovernsons all winter, every winter.

“I think so,” he said.

“Can I see the insurance card?”

Chet pulled it out and handed it to the man, who scanned it.

“You aren’t insured on this car.”

“No. I guess I’m not.”

The agent nodded. “What’s that big piece of expensive-looking electronic equipment in the back there?” he said. Chet turned around and saw the remnant from his Lol’s ‘87 Hairdew experiment, still sitting where he had left it.

“It’s an amplifier,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to get it out of here.”

The guard said, and I quote: “Why would you want to immigrate with such a speaker?”

Chet started sweating. Sweating like Ron House eating a McDonald’s salad.

By now, the guard was suspicious. Unemployed American kid. No agenda. Big guy, acting funny. Possible stolen wares in the back seat. The guard craned his neck into the Bronco’s rear and indicated the large Rubbermaid storage container next to the amplifier. The Rubbermaid container that Chet had seen many times at his own house; the one his mother often carried laundry in.

The guard pointed. “What’s in there?”

Chet exhaled, trying to slow his heartbeat. “I think it’s my mom’s laundry.”

“Could you open it, please?”

The guy amazing things happen to. That’s Chet. And by “amazing things,” I mean “catastrophic, epic failures.” Failures like discovering on the spot that Mr. P. also owns a Rubbermaid container, and that it is not filled with laundry. Or food. Or even tools.

Failures like opening a container in front of an already suspicious customs agent and finding a thick yellow rope with large, gore-stained hooks along its entire length. And, for good measure, a huge bloody machete.

At this point, the agent got a lot more interested. Three-hours-in-a-small-room interested. Many-questions-about-the-giant-Ziplock-in-the-glove-compatment-filled-with-unmarked-pills interested.

It was, Chet tells me, a very, very long day.

But, that’s what happens when you try to cross the border in a car that isn’t yours and whose owner is MIA, while carrying pills and instruments of torture.

Fortunately, Chet’s grandmother owns two waffle irons. One of them chirps like a bird when the waffles are ready. And that little factoid has absolutely no relevance to anything, but it can be a ray of sunshine when you’re looking at 30 years in a federal prison.

Chet screwed up. He should have known better. I go to Canada all the time, but I never bring my drugs or murder weapons. And if I did, I’d at least clean off the blood and intestines.

But I would certainly bring waffle irons. Because that chirping is fucking ridiculous.

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Comments

26 Comments on Trouble in the Great White North

  1. Hiro Boga on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 3:21 pm

    2. Poor Chet! Self-inflicted injuries and all that, but . . . sympathy from this Canadian who’s laughing so hard at your post it’s hard to muster up an appropriately doleful comment! You’re funny, Mr Truant!
    :-)

  2. Kelkel on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 3:32 pm

    3. Oh the suspense is killing me… I suspect the story is officially over, but what was the bloodied rope for??

  3. Joely Black (CharmQuark) on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 3:38 pm

    4. We all know somebody like Chet. The person things happen to, like you say. It makes my experiences with airport security in the last few days pale by comparison.

  4. Mad Asthmatic on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 3:51 pm

    5. God I love Chet! I have to know tho – what was the machete for???

    MA

  5. Johnny Truant on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 4:02 pm

    6. Wow, such demand for more info! Always leave them wanting more.

    Both the machete and gore hooks were hunting implements. Mr. P. is an avid hunter. I assume the hooks were used to… I don’t know… hang carcasses.

    One of my cousins also used to date this guy from Iran. Whenever they went to Canada, he just automatically pulled over to the berm to be searched; no point trying to go right through.

  6. HumorSmith on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 6:25 pm

    7. Okay, maybe I’m thick, but what was the point of the chirping waffle iron? Just a cheery thought to occupy Chet’s mind while being grilled?
    Or….is there some horrible, waffle, ulterior motive?

    Inquiring minds….

  7. Johnny Truant on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 6:33 pm

    8. Oh, man, you fail “The Economy Isn’t Happening Pointless and Obsessive Trivia.” In the linked post called “Matters of Life and Death,” I discussed the iron and how it chirps awesomely to let you know the waffles are done rather than something logical like a buzzer.

    I mean, hell… do you have a life or something?

  8. AnnieH on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 6:59 pm

    9. It’s always a Bronco. Coincidence?? I think not.
    PS. I believe each and every word. This kind of stuff… you can’t make up.

  9. Diane Whiddon-Brown on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 7:17 pm

    10. Okay, if I don’t know anyone like Chet, does that mean that as far as all of my friends are concerned, I’m Chet?

  10. Johnny Truant on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 9:20 pm

    11. This guy I know has two kids, and they watch SpongeBob SquarePants. He said, “Why does Squidward hate SpongeBob?” I told him that if he doesn’t know, then congratulations… he’s the neighborhood SpongeBob.

  11. LisaNewton on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 9:40 pm

    12. To cut a long story short, I’m participating in Chuck Westbrook’s blog group, and I just found your link. I’m so sorry I’m late.

    I love this post, love Chet, and really love his grandmother.

    Thank you so much for bringing up my spirits after a hard working day.

  12. Bryan Platz on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 10:48 pm

    13. I love reading/hearing this story. Must be 7-10 times, and it gets better each time…

  13. Unfinished Rambler on Tue, 30th Dec 2008 10:51 pm

    14. I may joke with you on Twitter, but I truly do enjoy your work and try to tell as many people as I can about your site. Yes, yes, I know, just buy the damned book, I will. :)

  14. Paul on Wed, 31st Dec 2008 11:35 am

    15. Ah, I enjoyed reading about poor ol’ Chet. I still remember you telling the story the first time after you heard about it. I can’t remember now, though, how did he get out of that situation?

  15. Johnny Truant on Wed, 31st Dec 2008 3:05 pm

    16. Chet was eventually assisted by the facts. Once someone started actually checking things out instead of asking him questions, they realized he hadn’t killed Mr. P., stolen his amp and Bronco, and dismembered and hung up his corpse. But to hear him tell it, it took a long time and was not so fun.

    I don’t know what the pills were, though.

  16. ejly on Wed, 31st Dec 2008 10:40 pm

    17. I found you through Chuck Westbrook’s project. Funny story! BTW I am married to Chet’s twin-in-unlucky-happenings. Thanks for the laugh.

  17. ang on Thu, 1st Jan 2009 1:15 pm

    18. If you would please write the darn book, I certainly would buy! You get me laughing as much as David Sedaris.

  18. Johnny Truant on Thu, 1st Jan 2009 1:35 pm

    19. Um…. book for sale on the main page of the blog? http://www.theeconomyisnthappening.com/buy.htm

    Unless you mean a different book. Like War and Peace. I didn’t write that, unfortunately, because I hear Tolstoy gets mad chicks.

  19. Chet Bolten on Thu, 1st Jan 2009 2:43 pm

    20. I have a friend like this named Rick Fletcher. I’ll post about him so you can see the amazing amount of similarities.

  20. ang on Thu, 1st Jan 2009 3:32 pm

    21. Oops! Sorry! I’ve learned to ignore sidebars,they toy with my ADD and lead me to an hour of nowhere. I did check on amazon before posting so that calculates to what? 85% ditz. LOL

    I’m going with the e-book, but I do have a check made out to Johnny Truant. If that is not correct e-mail me. Thanks for the afternoon read!

  21. Shieldmaiden1196 on Tue, 6th Jan 2009 7:47 pm

    22. If Chet needs a woman, I think I have one for him. One who drove to Canada once, on a whim, crossed the border and parked, deciding to go for a walk and a snack. While she was away from the car, the Mounties, who decided she had some kind of problem and didn’t want her to go away on her own, DISABLED her car. Then they picked her up, and couldn’t take her back to the car because they couldn’t undo what they’d done, and didn’t want her to know. Finally they took her back to her car, she drove on, and five minutes later, a bee flew in the window and went in her eye. Which swelled shut. Resulting in her having to seek out emergency room care. And they didn’t want to let her go because they thought she was abused. So they called the police. Who told them she’d just been in THEIR company. A fun night was had by all.

    She also took her car to Sears for new tires and while she was inside shopping, her car burned to ashes in the parking lot.

  22. Johnny Truant on Tue, 6th Jan 2009 11:34 pm

    23. Ha! Okay, that’s seriously hilarious. And just so you know, it was great even before I got to the bee thing.

  23. Shieldmaiden1196 on Wed, 7th Jan 2009 10:35 am

    24. Yes, aside from the raging mental illness she was a fantastic college roommate.

  24. Graham Strong on Thu, 22nd Jan 2009 1:16 pm

    25. Hilarious!

    Reminds me of a story — not nearly as funny though. Friends of mine drove down from Canada to Mexico in a (very) beat up ‘68 Chevy. As some of you know, Canada gets cold in the winter so our cars have block heaters that keep the oil from getting too cold overnight. You plug it in and your car starts the next morning (unless it is particularly cold).

    Anyway, as they are returning back from Mexico to the US in their (very) beat up car, the Customs Agent gets somewhat suspicious. Especially when he sees the cord sticking out of the grill.

    So he asks my friends “Why is there a cord sticking out of the grill?” and they say “That’s the block heater cord” and the agent says “What’s a block heater cord?” and they say… well, you get the idea. No surprise that Custom Agents in the south of Texas had never heard of such a thing before, and therefore didn’t really believe them.

    But after some time searching under the hood and failing to find smuggled microwaves/stereos/fridges, they let them go on their way.

    ~Graham

  25. Johnny Truant on Thu, 22nd Jan 2009 3:23 pm

    26. Those Texas agents probably thought there was a family of Mexicans under the hood trying to watch TV.

  26. James | Dancing Geek on Fri, 23rd Jan 2009 7:56 pm

    27. Laughing so hard I cried. Thanks for this story, and to the commentors with their own versions.

    I second Diane’s question however. I’m now on a mission to find a Chet of my own.

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