Attack of the Mexican-American Gorrilla
I’m sitting at McDonald’s a mere 5 miles from the Rio Grande. Tejano music is blaring at me from the ceiling. Apparently Texans this far down south don’t believe in Starbucks otherwise I’d be there sipping some awesome Coffee and using the internet there.
My dad is getting dental surgery done and being the ninja bargain shopper he is he hopped on the internet and discovered that there are a shitload of US trained mexican doctors who will give you a smile like Brad Pitt for about 1/3 the cost.
He calls me late Tuesday night and tells me he’s rolling to Mexico and am I “in?” He wants to roll out the next day in the afternoon for the 10 hour trek through the plains, then the hill country and then the desert until we collapse at the Super 8 where we’ll wake up to a “Continental Breakfast” (aka a banana, cereal, yogurt and burnt coffee).
I’m in.
The next morning I wake up, throw my shit in a duffle bag, grab my iPod shuffle and an armload of books and meet him in the Avalon.
We roll out like two pirates on a mission.
This morning after the sumptuous continental banana we drive to the border park, pay our 25 cents and cross the border.
It’s awesome!
There are about 50 dental clinics with signs like you’d see at wal-mart!
“Crown and Bridge Special $15 dollars today only!” (or something like that…)
I’ve got a little money in my account and I’m imagining what I’d look like with a mug full of Brad Pitt teeth. Or, I imagine (with my luck) I’d end up more like Matt Dillon’s character in “There’s Something About Mary” a mouth full of overly large capped teeth.
I decide against impulse dentistry and start the short walk back through the border crossing.
And, then, I hit a slight snag.
The turnstile requires $3.00, problem is I don’t carry cash. There’s a reason for this. I’ll start the morning at 9am with $60 (really it can be any amount but) and by 3pm that afternoon my pockets will be empty besides some assorted change. Then, I’ll have to stop and think “where the fuck did all my cash go?” I’ll stand there a good 5 or so minutes retracing steps, doing quick mental calculations and still have no idea wtf happened. (I was wondering why Enron was so friggin’ interested in me…)
I shove my hand into my pockets and dig up all my change. $2.63. Fuck!
I go back to Rio Dental Care. My dad is sprawled out in the dental chair with a blinding light shining down on him.
CJ: “Yo, I need $3 for the border.”
Daddy: “agga la rosh ah ma”
CJ: “????”
He points to his front pocket. Why he couldn’t go the extra 6 inches and pull the twenty out of his front pocket I’ll never know.
I grab the $20 and head back to the border.
I go to the little change booth and hand the guy a $20.00. He looks at me like “what’s this for?” But, he doesn’t say that…he says something in Espanyol.
I stare back. Blank.
He says something else. I grunt and make hand motions. He makes bigger hand motions and talks louder.
We establish that yes I am, in fact, a 32 year old man who left his native homeland, walked across a border patrol checkpoint to another country and walked back without bringing the correct change for the trip.
Neither of us said that, but our knowing glances said as much.
He leaves with my $20. I look back at the turnstile and it says, “$3.00 in pesos or 30ct.
Shit. I feel stupid now. He couldn’t believe I didn’t have 30 cents.
He comes back with $19 in ones and 10 dimes. He puts the dimes in my hand and says, “Three” and makes exaggerated hand motions at the turnstile.
I smile and nod, knowingly, because I had already figured that shit out all by myself while he was breaking the $20 which I didn’t need broken.
I stick my iPod earbuds in and turn on my trusty shuffle walking back to the parking lot on the U.S. side.
I walk by this imposing building and I’m already considering what I’m going to do with the rest of the day.
Maybe I’ll find a Starbucks and have a nice cup of steaming hot coffee of the day while I write.
Maybe I’ll pop into a movie theater and see a nice matinee.
When I hear such a clatter I’m forced to take the ipod earbuds out of my ears. I look to the building to my right and there’s a 6′ 3″ Mexican-American hopping around like an enraged Gorilla while banging on the window inside the building next to me.
And, he has a gun. And a badge.
I’m thinking. What the fuck did I do now? And, then, oh shit my Dad violated some mexican custom that nobody ever told us white folks about and he’s being hauled off for questioning by the Mexican secret service.
He points (emphatically) to the front door of the building I passed while rapping along with Lil Flip.
I get to the front door and there’s a “Department of Homeland Security” symbol emblazoned on the front door.
The Gorrilla has calmed down.
Gorrilla: “You asleep this morning?”
CJ: “Umm…never been here before.”
Gorilla: “What did you buy in Mexico.”
The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins. Shit, I’m a drug suspect. Some other white dude with purple highlights in a black t-shirt with an iPod shuffle just fucking bought some heroin from an undercover agent and I’m about to get sent to federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison while he gets off free and gets to bang all the meth whores he wants.
CJ: “What? Uh, nothing, sir.”
Gorilla: “What were you doing in Mexico this early in the morning.”
A few more questions and then he lets me through.
I hop in the Avalon and roll back towards Highway 83.
A free man (for now).
~ Captain Jack ~
P.S. Viva La Mexico.
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LOL, that shit is hilarious.
Get back to the D so we can roll out… I’m going stir crazy without a good wing..
Last night I almost pulled a bartender from Printer’s venue near your hood then she got drunk and passed out behind the bar…
Come back!!!
S
I see the seed of the new and great American novel!
entertaining…..really enjoyed reading this!
please keep posting those non-pickup stories every once in a while. i love them and people considering taking a bootcamp or anything equivalent from you are getting a closer look on who you are.
-zoe