Part 2 the Landing

Finally, the magic is happening. I’m finally, finally exporting/importing my truck. I’m only slightly happy to, ahem, finally, be done with this chapter of moving. 

'But wait,' he says.

Oh, crap. What now? Seriously guys, this is not funny anymore. The whole ‘oh, wait, there’s more’ is old as in wrinkly, stress ball-like potato old. 

'Let’s sign your permanent resident paperwork first, eh?'

Oh. Right. Eh.

Happy dance ensues. Mentally, I mean. I wouldn’t want to freak the officer out and break his focused, sedate façade stride. We all know, a tiger lurks behind their congenial façade ready to pounce on the no good, very bad person/people who try to lie to them. 

I break out the extra long, legal sized paperwork.

Paperwork. More paperwork.

And yet more paperwork. 

Sit and wait, yawn.

The royal summons once again. I’m advised of my rights, expectations as a permanent resident yada yada yada. I sign, he stamps and gives me a whisper of a smile and a ‘welcome to Canada, you’re now a landed immigrant.’

Back to business.

In that fleeting moment, I wish my hubby was there with me to take a picture of that moment. That wish flees quickly when I remember I’m not exactly dressed for a photo op. Road comfy clothes (t-shirt and jean shorts) and sandals for a cute photo statement do not make. Ha. All the filters of Instagram or apps couldn’t save that.

For some crazy reason I thought it would a more momentous moment for me. It turned out to be a pretty average Joe kind of moment. Not that I thought it would be a Disney moment with cheering, paper confettii streaming down through the air or anything.

 

More paperwork goes between me and him. 'Do you have x form?' I slide it across the desk. 'Do you…?' And so it went. More authoritative stamping and pounding (the more noise the better? Does it make it more official?) and then it was done. 

Of course, I’m handed more homework. 

Again with the homework!!

Basically it’s the five steps to importing your truck.

For reals this time.