Custom made touring

When I picked up my local paper yesterday, the entire back page of the Arts section was taken up by a great feature written by Peter Robinson about his recent book tour for his newest Inspector Banks novel, STRANGE AFFAIR. No link, alas, but it talks about the usual tour shenanigans — interviewers who have obviously never read the book, sparse signings, and drinking with Ian Rankin. But what had me rolling was the opening installment, as Robinson prepared to fly from Toronto to Logan Airport:

I live in Toronto now, though my Inspector Banks novels are set in Yorkshire, where I grew up, and in Toronto you have to clear U.S. customs and immigration at the airport, before your flight.  I turn up at the airport with a letter from my publisher explaining the purpose of my visit. I’m doing an eight-city tour — mostly readings and signings at selected bookshops. Nervously, I make my way over to the booth.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” the agent asks.

“I’m going on an author tour,” I say, brandishing a copy of STRANGE AFFAIR. “I’ve got a letter –“

“Author tour?” he cuts in, looking at me curiously over the top of his glasses. “I know author tours. One time I had this woman come up to me and I asked her what she did for a living. Know what she said?”

“Er, no.”

“’I write the Harry Potter books.’” He laughs. “That’s what she said to me. ‘I write the Harry Potter books.’ Yo go ahead now and have a great tour.”

Stunned I do as he says.

Having cleared customs a time or few at Pearson Aiport, I completely understand why Robinson might have been nervous. Most of the time I try to stick to stock answers because customs agents don’t really want to hear any others — they have to keep the line moving, after all. But when I flew to Las Vegas for Bouchercon a year and a half ago, I had a grand time trying to explain to the clueless customs agent why I was going to Vegas for some mystery convention and not for, oh, gambling. Like anyone else travelling to the city would, I suppose.

Then the cell phone I’d borrowed from my mother tested positive for explosives… and I had oh so much fun explaining that no sir, it was really covered in antacid dust.

Anyway, if you’ve toured, how do you deal with customs agents? Do they look at you funny and try to challenge your story, even if you have documents? Or share any bizarre customs stories in general.