I was in Montreal this week, and I came back via the Alburg, VT border crossing yesterday. Prettier drive via the 2 and US-7 than taking the freeway all the way down to NYC.

I have to say, I've never experienced such a nosy, power-hungry, yet polite asshat, even when I was traveling abroad as a foreigner. He basically treated me as a visitor rather than as a citizen who had a RIGHT to re-enter his own country. Disgusting.

Get to the border crossing -- the light is red, and there is a car with Quebec plates waiting in front of me. No car is being inspected. Finally after about 5 min, the Canadian car is allowed through. The border cop looks in the cargo area and lets them through.

I'm next, speak to Officer Wooster, give him my passport.
"How long have you been in Canada?"
"Couple days, came in on Wednesday morning."
"What were you doing in Canada?"
"Visiting Montreal, beautiful city, and meeting a friend."
"What is your occupation?"
"Self-employed consultant."
"What kind of consultant?"
"Engineering and technology."
"Have you ever been arrested?"
"Once in college for disorderly conduct, but I wasn't convicted... ... ..."
"Sir, I need the keys to your car."

(guy checks a bunch of things and makes phone calls)

"This friend, is she your girlfriend?"
"Whom I'm sleeping with is frankly my business, Sir."
"What's your friend's name?"
"I don't have to answer that." (She's an American expat.)
"I need to look in your trunk, can you release it from the inside."
"No, you need the key."
"Here's your key, show me how."

(I walk around the car, open the trunk.)

"Sir, get back in the car."
"If you're going through my personal luggage, I'd appreciate a chance to watch, so nothing goes missing."
"You need to get back in the car."

(Wooster does his thing without my watching for a few minutes, then tells me I'm free to go. At the Canadian border going the other way, they generally REQUIRE people to watch while they're checking the car, which seems much more fair and likely to keep honest people honest.)

"What's the number of your boss? I've never been treated with such suspicion coming into my own country, and I found your line of questioning inappropriate." -- he writes it down (without area code) and hands it to me. "What's the area code, Einstein?" "802. I forgot." (yeah right) "Write it down!"

I call the number -- the automated system doesn't know the boss-man's name, but I get through via the border police operator. Filed a report about the personal questions and the search without my being able to see. Thing will probably get round-filed, but one more complaint going on the guy's record won't hurt anything.