CHAPTER 4
Yesterday was not a funny day. Not much sleep, bad bed, no milk for our granola, cloudy skies (what’s up with that God?), and the loudest room in the hotel. On top of that it’s our Organization Day where we take the bus to the Mega for our supplies after spending 45 minutes in the bank changing CA$ into pesos.
Mexican banks differ from the ones back home in that the larger banks usually have a guy with a black balaclava holding a machine gun standing outside for your safety and inside the bank there’s a wall of photos taken from many angles showing robberies in progress.
First there’s the picture of him entering the bank (usually with a ball cap and sunglasses on). You know he’s a bad hombre because the bank has a firm policy of no caps, sunglasses, or cell phones allowed (I suppose a real badass would be taking a selfie as he pulls out his weapon).
The next photo has him reaching into his waistband securing a mucho gigantica handgun and heading towards the tellers. Again, he’s probably going to cut into the line as all these guys tend to look quite anxious, how rude. The staff is all behind bullet-proof glass but alas the customers could easily become sliced and diced and if the intruder decided to pop a few rounds into some of the most distinguished looking patrons the manager wouldn’t need a calculator to confirm that his profit base was shrinking by the second and probably fork over some incentive for the robber to vacate the premises.
The last photo usually shows the guy clicking his heels and high-fiving an aging hippie tourist who was just about to enter the bank and just missed the story of a lifetime. (although he will recount a bullshit version to his friends at every gathering he ever attends).
Anyways, our bank has no armed sentry out front but does have all of the robbery pictures to stare at while waiting in line. I’m tempted to pull out my phone to take a picture of the wall but my cap and sunglasses get in my way.
We wait patiently and the line begins to build behind us and then it’s our turn. We decide that this will be our only time in a bank while were down here and I give the teller my passport and a $1000 through the tray under the glass. Today’s rate is 14.1 pesos to the dollar so 14,100 pesos will be coming our way. After much tapping on the calculator the teller determines what mix of bills to give me. Unfortunately he doesn’t have enough and has to wait for his supervisor to unlock the time-delay safe. With only 2 directions to look because I dare not look behind or to the right because the customers in line behind us would probably sear my eyeballs with their stares (stupid gringo) I’m forced to face forward looking at a panic room holding the employees or off to the left at the wall of felons. Suddenly some of these bad characters look remarkably similar to people waiting in line behind us. I’m tempted to throw up my hands and scream ‘ I’ve changed my mind, keep the money!’ and run out of the bank but that would leave Carol to dodge bullets and fend off the squat Mexican women in line who undoubtedly are packing meat cleavers in their bags…. still it was an option, just sayin… I decide that I did sign on to be Carol”s protector 42 years ago but hey, if she’s going to put herself in harm’s way than I should be able to go to Plan B.
Anyways the teller returns, counts out 5,000 small denomination bills which I cram in my pocket and Carol turns to me and says ‘I’ll change $1000 too’ and passes it to the teller. Audible groans behind us and I’m thinking ‘I’m not that infirm yet. I could probably find another wife’. Short story long, we make it out of the bank while I pretend to count the eyelets on my shoes while Carol berates me for being paranoid. Its not paranoia if you actually get killed!
On to the Mega next door where the first sign we see is ‘Buy one bottle of wine and get the second for half price’. I turn to the nearest worker and ask if I can borrow their pallet jack.
Smooth sailing after that. Home again, food tucked away, margaritas consumed, Carol retires to the patio and I head to Yo Yo Mos (not to be confused with Yo Yo Ma the world famous Japanese cellist) for an evening of watching hockey and humiliating the locals playing pool.
Home before dawn and the day had been salvaged.
Blue Delivery 