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Crashers make wait even longer

Sometimes I wish I were one of those people whose time is more valuable than the rest of us. It certainly would have come in handy last Sunday.

Sometimes I wish I were one of those people whose time is more valuable than the rest of us. It certainly would have come in handy last Sunday.

Crossing the border can be a slow process these days, but to do so on a summer long weekend is simply asking for aggravation. I knew that going in, but when a soccer tournament calls, what are you to do?

I had already done a great deal of waiting that day, one that started out at a park in Marysville, Washington, at 8: 15 a.m. The waiting began around 10 as the outcome of subsequent games would determine whether the team my son plays on would advance in the tournament.

It was about 1 when we found out we'd be in the final, slated for 4, which meant even more waiting. After winning the final, the boys were handed T-shirts, but had to get in a 90-minute lineup to get them emblazoned with crests fit for champions.

By the time we hit the Pacific Highway border shortly after 8 p.m., I was a veteran of the waiting game, so the 80-minute estimate on the highway reader board didn't seem like anything I couldn't handle.

When the line didn't move, not even an inch, 10 minutes in, I began to worry the estimate might not be entirely accurate. What was more troubling was the parade of cars in the right hand lane zipping by us poor saps at a standstill.

At first I chalked this up to Nexus card holders, but it soon became apparent they weren't the only ones looking to bypass the congestion. An hour or so into our ordeal and the traffic light of the final cross street now in sight, it became obvious that some drivers - the ones whose time is more valuable than the rest of us - were using the right turn lane to exit the highway, only to pull a U-turn and merge closer to the border.

And a line of polite and accommodating Canadians were allowing them do it, worried more about the hopeful stares of the interlopers trying to cut in than the poor souls stacked up behind them.

Perhaps it was because I had already endured my fair share of waiting for the day, although I think it was more out of principle, but when I got to the light I let the couple in the black sedan trying to merge know the line actually started a quarter-mile back. The guy behind me rode my bumper, also preventing their merge, but soon enough someone let them in.

It wasn't much, but I figure I saved a minute or so of my time. Then again, my time isn't anywhere near as valuable as those who bypassed the line.