It had been a long day for Trent Derbish, officer with the Canadian Border Service Agency. Lots of traffic, tons of odd declarations, and then this old bugger with an English accent.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t quite catch that. Could you repeat it?”
“Right,” the old man said, “all I’ve got to declare is a brain. I’ve got it in the boot, if you need to see it.”
“A brain in your boot?”
“Yes, officer, a brain. In the boot.”
“Not about?”
“No, not the funny way you Canadians say ‘about’,” the old man said, with some nerve, Trent thought, “but the boot.”
“The boot?”
Trent leaned out the window of his customs cubicle. The fellow was probably in his nineties, and he was clearly wearing running shoes.
“But you’re wearing running shoes.”
“Yes, I find trainers quite comfortable.”
“That may be,” Trent countered, a mild hysteria rising within him. “But I still don’t see how you could fit a brain down there, shoes or boots.”
“Oh, I see. Trunk. The brain is in the trunk,” the old man said quite unhelpfully.
Trent felt as though his brain had been left somewhere. But what to do?
“Okay, thank you sir, you don’t need to declare the brain.”
“Really,” said the old man, “I thought there might be some bumf to fill.”
Trent did not want to hear about anything being filled, particularly something called “bumf”.
“Please, sir,” Trent said, “just drive on. Enjoy your trip to Canada.”
Inspired by:
Brain secrets | English-American Translations
Comments are closed.