Today marks the fourth time I have re-entered the United States from Canada and it has proven to be the most interesting of those experiences. The U.S. Customs and Border Protection computer incorrectly identified me as someone who is considered to be armed and dangerous.

As I pulled forward toward the booth housing the awaiting customs officer, there was a brief flash from the camera to the left of my car. When I reached the booth I handed my passport to the officer.

"Roll down your back window," he instructed. My windows are tinted so it was a reasonable request and I obeyed.

"Why were you in Canada today?"

"I dropped off some friends at a U-Haul so they could retrieve some stuff from a storage unit."

He was typing some information on the computer in the booth.

"Okay. I need you to turn of the engine and leave the keys in the ignition." He said as he walked toward the back of my car.

"Step out of the car and face forward. Do not look back." he shouted from behind a cement block with two other officers.

I stepped out of my car facing forward.

"Hands in the air!" he shouted.

"Okay. Walk backwards towards the sound of my voice."

"Stop!"

"Hands behind your back."

I felt the handcuffs ratchet around my wrists.

"Have you ever been arrested before?"

"No." I replied. At this point I was perplexed.

"Is there anyone else in the vehicle?"

"No."

"Alright. Walk this way." He held onto the handcuffs and led me into a small room.

"Face the wall and spread your legs."

"Do you have anything sharp?"

"Nope. The sharpest that I had were my keys and you have those already."

He began to empty my pockets and patted down every square inch of clothing on my body. When he got to my groin he asked that I don't react to him touching me. During the search he said everything would be explained shortly. Another officer watched and gave instruction to the officer doing the frisking. For a moment I thought it may have been a training exercise.

The search went on as another officer entered the room and began searching through my wallet. He removed everything then began to examine it for... who the fuck knows. I have practically the worlds smallest front-pocket wallet.

I was asked to remove my shoes so the frisky officer could perform a foot massage while pretending to search for... again, who the fuck knows. Matches? Explosives? Dirty socks?

Things started looking better as they let removed the handcuffs and told me to put everything back in my pockets. I was also allowed to put my shoes back on. They asked me to come out of the room and wait behind a counter while the file a report.

Two officers tried to explain that the computer had incorrectly identified me as someone who is considered armed and dangerous and that the search was just for safety. I was not under arrest and free to leave.

They left me with a comment card similar to what you get after visiting a restaurant like Red Robin or even Wendy's. The interesting part about the comment card is the code written on it with a sharpie by one of the officer.

3004 PA

I did a quick search on Google and turned up nothing. The field in which this number is written is titled:

U.S Customs and Border Protection (CBP) Port/Airport Code (to be stamped or hand written by officer.

I'm curious to know the definition of that code. If anyone reading this knows, please comment!

Update on Tuesday, September 1, 2009 at 02:26PM by Jon

Turns out there is another Jonathan Bell (different middle name) born on the same day as me with an extensive criminal history and is wanted by multiple countries/government agencies.

I am considering changing my legal name to Jon or perhaps something completely different from Jon, John, Jonathan, Johnathon, etc.