Part 1

Oct 5/97

Got a new notebook on Wednesday, so I thot I start keeping an online diary.

Oct 7/97 I just got my visa. The guy was really tough, (but _really_ cute ;-).

I'm young and in computers, and there aren't many good full-time jobs, so I began travelling and taking contract jobs wherever were available. One day, I found myself with a job offer from a company in Boston for $700 USD per day. I couldn't believe it, but they really liked my skills. This job would open up a new world of opportunities for me, a whole new career. But to work in the U. S. I had to get a visa, and I wasn't sure how.

I checked on the net for the TN rules, and found out I wasn't qualified because I didn't have a degree. The other way was to prove I had 5 years of related experience. Maybe I could see my way through that one. I reread all of the rules, and tried to put a good case together. I spent hours and hours getting letters from previous employers, letters of reference, anything which I thought would help me. I just had to get that visa.

Today, Tuesday, my application was ready to present. My job starts on Monday. My plane tickets are for Friday. I put my best suit on, and took my application to the border.

I actually live in a border town, so it was only a five minute drive. As I approached the border guard in the booth, he gave me a slip of paper and directed me towards the customs and immigration office. I parked, and proceeded inside.

To be honest I was pretty nervous. I wanted that visa more than anything I had ever wanted in my life. If I couldn't get it, I would be stuck in Canada, without many prospects, let alone the fact of the amazing pay I had been offered in the U. S., with a probability of much more, and even better paying work!

I approached the desk; two customs officers talked off to one side. I overheard them saying something about a slow day. Both were about 225 to 250 lbs and hairy, but one - distinctively beefier, wearing dark golden-rimmed glasses and with more attitude - was closer. I asked to speak to the trade Nafta officer. The closer one _c_o_c_k_ed his head sideways and down for a second, and motioned to the counter in front of me. I realized it would be him.

I stood myself at a counter just below waist-height, and still with his sunglasses on he assumed a seated position on a high stool and asked me for my paperwork. I opened my briefcase and placed it on the counter. As he reviewed it, I looked just beyond to the edge. The view was hard to believe, but it was true. I was looking down at legs parted, pants stretched tight against his thick thighs, and extremely tight across his crotch; they were even shiny where his basket rubbed against his trunk-like legs. His wide black belt banded his waist just above, his keys dangled just off-center, as if pointing down to the view. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he displayed himself, and it seemed to me, proudly.

He asked me if I had ever worked in the U. S. before. "No." Had I ever been arrested? "No." Had I ever been fingerprinted? "No."

With a slightly mean bent, he said "Clean as a whistle then, huh?" I wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question, or if he thought I was a smart-ass, so I just shrugged and smiled.

"HUH?" he forcefully interjected.

"Yes" I quickly replied. Oh-oh, I knew that if I really wanted this visa I would have to be more careful.

Without speaking, he proceeded to slowly read the first two pages. There was nothing to do but watch and wait, and try to relax. Impossible. My nerves were already stretching to the limit. I tried not to look at him, but the border of a reddish curly carpet of chest hair reached the open collar of his white customs shirt. It reached out from under his short sleeves and continued down his arms. His golden badge was worn high, above the pocket. His very round, full shoulders reached up to a shortish, and thick neck. His mustache was fully red, a match to his red and slightly thinning hair. He kept his dark glasses on for the first part his questioning.

He didn't like my paperwork, and said I needed 5 years experience as a consultant, he showed me the description, and highlighted the requirements. I replied that so he wanted me to explain how consulting fit into my work experience. I was really nervous at first, and I started to explain my previous jobs, and the work I had done for management.

"Why don't you have a letter from your current employer?"

I was at a loss for words. I hadn't thought to get one. I hesitated.

Curtly: "I'm asking you something."

"I guess I just didn't think to get one. I should have. I don't know why I didn't".

He looked at me through those dark glasses for what seemed like forever. He looked down at the paperwork again, breathed out, and said "Come with me."

Gathering the papers he walked to the end of the counter, pulled the gate back, and with his head _c_o_c_k_ed down and to one side motioned me through and down the hall.

He followed me rather closely behind; his keys jangling. We passed several doors, all the way to the end of the hall. I stopped and turned as he unlocked the heavy metal blue fire door to our left, pushing it open, and then stepping back. He motioned me in.

The doorway was a double doorway, one immediately after the other. I assumed they were fire doors. I opened the second one, which opened into a cement stairwell. I blindly descended the stairs. At the bottom was another metal fire door. I opened it and found it too was a double door. I opened the second, and myself in a concrete block hallway alight with fluorescents. "To your right, 6B", he grunted heavily.

The hallway was quiet. All of the doors were closed, and I could see that there was no light coming from underneath the doors. They appeared to be unused. I paused half-way down the hall, in front of a door with 6B painted in black. The paint was old and faded.

He took the keys from his belt, unlocked and pushed open the door. Yet another double door. I went forward, opened it, and heard the command "Sit down."

There was an apparently unused wooden government-issue desk with a chair behind and a chair in front. A metal locker stood behind it in the corner. It kind of reminded me of the interrogation rooms you see in the movies, except off to one side against the wall was what appeared to be a military-style cot. I guessed that they needed these sorts of rooms at the border because they do get people trying to smuggle huge stashes of drugs, and, I'm sure, a host of other very serious illegal activities needed to be investigated, and drug lords and what-not interrogated should they be detained here. I guessed that was the reason for the cement block walls, and the many double-doors with locks we just came through. It seemed to fit the situation.

As ordered, I sat in the chair, and he positioned himself half-sitting on the desk in front of me. The shine from where his thighs rubbed against his crotch met me at eye-level, the keys shone to match. He put the papers down.

"I know what you want" he said, crossing his arms.

I was really startled by that statement. I wasn't at all sure what he meant.

"To work in the U. S., you have to meet certain requirements."

I was trying to follow his reasoning, looking up at him, without looking straight ahead.

"And you do not meet the requirements."

"Do you need something more?" I asked.

He paused, and drew a long breath.

"You don't have the right qualifications for a visa. You don't have enough experience - and you don't even have a degree. But for some reason some company wants to pay you $700 per day. Beats me. You must be some smart."

I still stared, in silence, upward.

He unfolded his arms, placing them on the desk beside him and leaned slightly forward. "I'm going to bet you are smart. Would you say you are a pretty smart guy?" His tone was slightly menacing.

I hesitated, wondering what the right answer was.

"Yes, I guess so."

In a brutish way he continued.

"You're lucky, because I'm going to guess you are too. And because I like you, I've taken a personal interest in this case, so I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to give you another way to get your visa. If you're smart, you'll get your visa, and we'll both get something out of it."

He paused, and let the statement ring out. I began to realize what was going on, but wondered what he wanted.

"I can do something for you, and", leaning forward a little and putting his hand on my shoulder, I thought I saw his legs widen ever so slightly, "you can do something for me".

He observed my reaction, maintaining his position. I looked down, and wondered to myself what it would be like. I slowly looked back up, and I guess the look in my eyes gave my thoughts away. A slightly satisfied look came across his face, and was suddenly gone.

He stood up and, putting his hand on my shoulder, his crotch came directly to eye-level, only six inches away,

Suddenly, and quite roughly "Do you understand?"

"Uh..." My mind began to spin wildly. Did he really want what I thought he wanted?

"I can give you alternate entrance requirements." He leaned down now, putting his face closer to mine, his grip on my shoulder getting firmer, his tone dark and stern. "But I'll only warn you once. If you accept, there's no backing out. With me, it's all or nothing. I don't do this for everyone, and I don't like people who can't follow through on a commitment." His emphasis was all on the words "don't like".

He finished off the sentence an inch from my face and almost at a whisper. "Do you understand?"

I could only look wide-eyed directly into those dark glasses and mutely nod.

He suddenly stood up, and walked toward the door. "I'm giving you two minutes to make up your mind. Have your answer ready when I get back." And he walked out and firmly closed the door.

My head was spinning. I thought I was sure what he wanted, but no - it couldn't be possible. These things just don't happen in real life. I wasn't sure at all what he wanted. Would he take such a risk? Or was he taking a risk? Maybe these rooms are really soundproof. Of course they are, they're interrogation rooms. Who knows what goes on in here? Cops do interrogate criminals. But I wasn't a criminal. I just wanted a visa. Maybe he sensed how much I wanted it, and was just _c_o_c_k_y and sure enough of himself to try it. It's happened before - I've read stories in the papers. Maybe he was going off the deep end - going crazy. People do go crazy. In any case I knew this wasn't regulation. But I couldn't piss him off, because if he was crazy, he might just see to it that I never get a visa, or even into the U. S. again. How could I get out of this with a visa and without pissing him off? I started to realize what kind of a situation I was in. There seemed to be only one way out. He could screw up the rest of my career, or he had the power to give me that visa, and grant me my new career. More than anything, wanted that visa. More than anything ever before in my life.

Two minutes was over in a flash. The door opened, he entered, and came over and stood nearly in front of me.

"Well, what's your decision. Do you want your visa?"

I stammered. "Yes, I do."

His face got close to mine again and he repeated... "How badly do you want it?"

I was gasping for words. "Pretty badly, I guess."

A menacing eruption shot out at me "Do you or don't you?!"

An eternity past, and the words came out in slow motion.

"Yes, I do." I didn't know what I was agreeing to, but I knew he wanted something.

He stood up straight, and with a satisfied half-smile, half-grin said "I thought you were smart. You won't let me down, now will you?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"uh, no, sir?" Is he a power-tripper?

"That's right, no SIR. You've been disrespectful to me since the start. I'm about to fix that. Get over there".

Oh _s_h_i_t_. He's going off the deep end. He pointed toward a black concrete wall. I hesitated for a second, and remembering again how badly I wanted my visa, I summoned my strength and walked to the position that he pointed, and before I turned around I heard what I thought was the door being locked. My heart began to race, and I was more than a little scared, being locked in this room with a big and, perhaps crazy, border guard with a baton and a gun. Maybe I didn't want that visa so bad after all. But how could I go back now? I couldn't - it was impossible.

I turned with my back was against the wall. He was over by the door. He _c_o_c_k_ed his head down and to one side, then walked toward me with a purpose. He didn't stop until he was just inches away. It was then I realized just how big he was. With his boots, he seemed to tower over me, my eyes coming chest-level with his bulk. He completely filled my view, and looked down, and issued "Get ready for your new visa requirements."

I just stared dumbly up at him. What had I gotten myself into? Could I get out now?

"WELL?" The force of his outburst startled me.

I didn't know what he wanted. My mouth started to move but nothing came out.

"WHAT DO YOU SAY TO YOUR OFFICER?"

I blurted out "Yes?" Great. I was rapidly loosing control of the situation, and that apparently, was almost the correct response. "Yes WHAT?"

"Yes, Sir!?"

He paused again, stone-faced. I couldn't tell if he was thinking or getting angry.

"For a smart guy, you don't learn very fast, do you?"

I stared up at him. He's really pouring it on fast now, I thought.

"DO YOU!??!" I think he was angry by now.

"No, Sir!" It was now a knee-jerk response.

"Well, I've had to teach some dumb ones, but you are about the dumbest one I've had. I'm going to tell you your visa requirements, eventually, but first I've got some work to do. What you have is a lack of respect for authority. I'm going to have to take it upon myself to give you that lesson, so that we can get to the visa requirements."

Lesson? But I'd better reply. "Yes, Sir." What kind of lesson?

"Did I just ask you something?"

"No Sir."

"Then why did you speak?"

"I'm sorry sir, I thought I just should say that, sir." OH _s_h_i_t_, what am I doing? What am I saying. What does he want from me?

"Listen. I'm going to spell this out for you, because I like you." He put his hands on my shoulders. He breathed in heavy gasps of air, his bulky white-shirted chest moving massively.

"There are going to be some rules here. You do know what rules are, don't you?"

Rules? Oh god. "Yes, Sir!" _s_h_i_t_. What's going on?

"Good. This is rule number one. If I ask you a question, you respond with Yes, Sir or No, Sir. If I don't ask you a question, then you don't... say... anything." He drew out the last words for emphasis. "YOU GOT THAT?"

Oh god. "Yes, SIR!" The response was becoming automatic.

"I want you to repeat it back to me. Tell me, what's rule number one?"

What did he just say?? "When you say... I mean when you ask me... something... I answer with yes sir or no sir. If you don't ask me anything, I shouldn't say anything." I was finally getting it. I knew he wanted to be in complete control of the situation, and of me. But for what? I was also sure I was completely out of control of the situation, with less and less time to think.

He breathed out, and drew up a bit, looking slightly disgusted at me. He seemed to be contemplating.

"Do you want your visa?"

Despite this treatment, I remembed I wanted it more than anything ever before in my life. Go with it. Get it. Get your visa. Oh God what am I doing? "Yes, Sir!" came the automatic response.

He paused, his paws still on my shoulders. I felt the weight of his hands increase, and as he pushed me down, oh my god he was pushing me down, I fell down onto my knees. Suddenly, I was looking directly into that tight, shiny spot, only this time, it was mere inches from my face.

"I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going to give you the chance to get it."

Even in my confused state, I thought I knew now what he wanted. Could I do it? Could I go through with it? Did I really want that visa? Did I still have a choice?

"But you need to show respect. I'm going to take it onto myself to teach you some. I shouldn't have to do this, after all you are a grown boy, but I feel it's my duty to give you a proper lesson."

"what?" my unconscious mind had given voice to the question without my thinking.

"Boy, you just don't learn, do you?" He was shaking his head in anger and disbelief. "Did I ask you something?"

I thought the best thing to do was just agree. "No, Sir."

"No, I didn't. I'm going to spell it out for you again. I ask, you answer. YOU GOT IT???"

"Yes, Sir!" Oh god. Oh _s_h_i_t_. What's he going to do?

"What's rule number one?"

"You ask, I answer with yes sir or no sir. You don't ask, I don't answer."

"You'd better pray I have the patience for you, son. Because I'm about to call this whole thing off if you don't smarten up." And with that his expression turned sour. "Unless you've changed your mind on me??"

Even if I had, which I hadn't, I was sure this was no time to bring it up. "No, Sir, I haven't, Sir."

He seemed to be satisfied with the answer. After a moment's pause in which he seemed to dwell, he sputtered "Get ready."

Get ready, what did he mean? What's coming?