U.S. CUSTOMS ZEALOTS HAVE GONE TO POT

As far as twentysomething Edmontonians go, Chris is a pretty
industrious guy. After three years of working for an entertainment
company he's still eating Kraft dinner but he sees a payoff not far
down the line.

In fact, three months from now Chris is supposed to be in one of the
13 cities on the Rolling Stones' North American tour because the
company he works for is handling the tour bookings - you know,
transportation to the shows, making sure fans have a great time.

Nice work if you can get it.

"I've been waiting a long time for this opportunity and now it's so
close," said Chris, a 29-year-old who asked that his last name not be
used.

"And now this."

The "this" in question is Chris's nemesis, the United States Customs
and Immigration Service, the folks who seem intent on keeping him from
crossing into Uncle Sam's land.

Seems Chris was heading to Thailand via Seattle for a vacation in
November, the kind you save up for a year to go on, replete with beach
house and gentle lapping waves.

Oh, he got waves alright. As in, wave bye-bye to the $900 he spent on
the plane ticket. He was not, it turns out, good enough to mingle with
the poor and huddled masses.

See, about a decade ago, Chris was in the wrong place at the wrong
time. He was at the scene of a pot deal and got picked up for
trafficking.

No big deal. It was quickly determined he wasn't involved and the
charge was dropped.

But not everyone - particularly U.S. Customs - forgets.

Chris's problems actually started a year earlier, when he was yanked
off a plane heading for Indonesia because of the charge. After
explaining, however, that it had been dropped he was allowed to take
the flight.

This time was different. After admitting he'd been charged, he also
answered honestly that he had tried marijuana in the past (but doesn't
smoke it now.) He was summarily dismissed and told if he wants to get
into the U.S., he'll have to get a special waiver.

Chris is most upset about the details of his conversation with the
customs officer. He was "tricked," he believes, into admitting he was
once charged.

Yeah, whatever. What bugs me - what should bug any average schmo - is
the double standard being applied week after week by our American neighbours.

After all, their own president - admittedly, not the most reliable
source - says he smoked marijuana. And they let him back in.

Then there's Grant Fuhr, a name any Edmontonian who hasn't been
trapped down a well is familiar with. The NHL goalie went public a
number of years back with his cocaine problems.

When asked on talk shows about his early years in show biz, Canadian
comedian Dan Ackroyd quite openly discusses his drug-addled excursions
with now-dead actor John Belushi.

But is the surviving Blues Brother deported for it? Of course
not.

And then last year, there was Ross Rebagliati. Admitting to having
smoked dope in the past didn't keep him off the Tonight Show or the
World Cup snowboarding circuit.

Although, he might prove an easier target, to hear Chris talk,
"They're going to wish this hadn't happened because I'm not going to
stop making noise about this one."

He has already taken his concerns to both the federal government and
the customs officer's boss.

If need be, he says he'll protest at the airport or hand out
literature to Canadians heading south advising them that they should
be prepared to lie.

And he's right. I don't know many people who haven't tried
marijuana.

And even if they hated it and never tried it again - even if they're
vehemently opposed to its distribution - that one moment of
experimentation turns them into liars if, God forbid, they have to
head South.