1962 Four Canada

Oh, Canada. I mentioned in a previous essay about the odd ad I had read from a Cremation Cemetery: "We pay your sales tax. 12% discount!" A pretty strange ad. Am I going to hurry someone's demise in order to save on his incineration? Acting now is problematic, unless I have a corpse lying about.
My friend Rick saw the ad differently. Namely, if it costs 12% sales tax to cremate in Canada, why not drag the body down here and only pay 8.5%?
Prop 'em up in the backseat perhaps, ala "Weekend at Bernie's." The only moral dilemma would be when you return through Canadian Customs.
"Did you purchase anything while you were in the states, Sir?"
"Just some, um, services."
"Do you have anything to declare?"
"Well, I'm hauling some ashes, eh?..."
But bonus, you'll save even more money on time and gas, using the carpool lane.
Which may mean you have to go through the person whose odd office sign I saw on the side of the Provincial Capital Building in Victoria: "Commissioner of Conflict of Interest." So does he promote it or prevent it?
The last thing I learned in Canada is be careful how you order your eggs cooked. The first day I was there I said "medium" when the waitress asked. I got some weird-shaped thing on my plate.
I learned why when I heard her asking Canadians about the eggs they ordered "poached." She queried, "Soft, medium, or hard?" In Victoria at least, poached is the norm.
Mine looked odd because it was fried after it was poached. Like the waitress realized I was American and told the cook at the last minute.
My egg ended up being conflicted. But interesting.
And still had 12% tax.
At least it wasn't burned.
Canadia, ya gotta love it.