When Immigration Goes Wrong

I was watching the news today about Justin Trudeau, prime Minster of Canada coming to Washington that was followed by the never ending story about Donald Trump’s wall to keep people out of the US. The cross of those two news items reminds me of my favorite Canadian Immigration experience.
In the early nineties I had the pleasure of being a consultant to the ten provincial 

Canadian phone companies. Each province (think state) had it’s own telephone company and as competition was coming into to the phone business there they created an umbrella company called Stentor to help them fight the new start up phone companies. I worked for Stentor. The average Canadian had no idea that Stentor existed and only thought of their phone company as their local one like Bell Canada in Ontario or BC Tel in British Columbia.
The only way I was allowed to work in Canada was I had to be granted a work permit that basically said that no one else in Canada had the same experience I had and that I was in no way taking a job from a Canadian. It was a stretch, but I got one. When I flew into Ottawa where our main office was it was not an issue because they knew what was Stentor since it was head quartered there.
Since my consulting was in sales I had the adventure of getting to visit every province in Canada, multiple times. I have been to places Canadians don’t even visit like Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, but then I also got to go to Vancouver a bunch so it all balances out.
One day I flew into London, Ontario on a little prop plane from Detroit. There were only twelve passengers and I think that they had very few international flights each day. This meant that the most junior of Immigration officers worked there and he took his job very seriously.  
The first person in line was Canadian so he got through with only about five minutes of intense interrogation about what he might be bringing back from the states. Then it was my turn. The young officer looked at my passport and my work permit stapled inside and grilled me for fifteen minutes about my expertise and why was no one else in Canada capable of doing the job I was doing. I had to first explain what Stentor was since that was the name on my work permit and then explain telephone competition. It went on and on and he eventually tired of me and told me to go wait on a bench so he could clear the rest of the passengers and he would get back to me.
The person behind me was a Nun carrying a guitar. Since we were in a tiny room I could hear perfectly as this young man grilled this Nun. 
 “Why are you coming to Canada? ” he asked.
“To sing in a charity concert,” the Nun answered.
“Is there not a Canadian Nun who could be doing this job?” He demanded of the frail and elderly woman.
“It is not a job,” she respectfully explained. “I am not getting paid.”
“But why should I let you into Canada to do this work?”
This poor Nun obviously was not an expert in immigration rules and did not know that she should have said she was just coming for a vacation, but then again Nuns don’t usually vacation. After about fifteen minutes of hard core treatment he made the Nun come sit on the bench next to me to be dealt with after he had finished with everyone else.  
In the end over half the flight was on the bench and it was at least two hours since we had landed. By now this guy was ready for a coffee and he had proven his point that he had all the power and we had none. He had me come back to his little stand and asked me what the name of all the provincial phone companies were as if to test my qualifications. Luckily I knew them. He stamped my passport and let me into the country.  
I did not stay around long enough to see what he made the Nun do to prove her value, but a I imagine he had her open her guitar and had her sing for him.
I have a feeling that Donald Trump would like to clone this guy and have him work all the US boarders. No one would ever try to come to the US again once they met the likes of this immigration officer. So much for good relations with your neighbors.