I'm sorry to leave you hanging. It's true I've been MIA and I left no explanation as to why. This is my story:
I was craving a taco on my lunch break at work one day so I drove to a corner where Pedro sells fresh authentic tacos. As I sat on the folding chair he has under a canvas gazebo I asked him, "Pedro, why did you come to America just to sell tacos?"
Pedro said, "Si, tacos. You like?"
"Yes," I said, "Why come all the way to America to sell tacos?"
"America, si. I like," he answered.
"Didn't you like Mexico?" I ask.
"Si, Mexico. I like."
"So why did you come here?" He smiled and nodded. He didn't understand anything other than taco and how many.
This got me to thinking. What if I tried to immigrate to Mexico. I could do an experiment kind of like the book, "Black Like Me" but "Mexican Like Me" with a language barrier.
I drove to Arizona and left my car in a safe neighborhood, well, actually Wal-mart parking lot, since it's always full. I bought some instant tan spray and went into the handicap stall and disrobed. I sprayed away. I then went to a second hand store and bought some Mexican attire. I got me a couple of water bottles and a box of Twinkies (since they never expire) and headed for the border. It was fairly easy except it was like a fish swimming upstream. I was trying to get into Mexico and I had about fifty people keep pushing me back over and shouting something at me. I just smiled and nodded like Pedro. Finally I said, "Amigos, I want to go back to Mehico. Can som wan give me a poosh over de fence?" I tried my hardest to sound like the Taco Bell Chihauhau. Some one's hands sank into my fat little bottom and over I went.
"Grassy-ass," I thanked them.
So I walked and walked and walked for six hours until I reached a little village. People spoke to me in Spanish, I smiled and nodded and said, "Si." Then I remembered all the Spanish I learned on Sesame Street. "Agua," which is water. They pointed to a pump. I showed them my empty water bottles. They looked at me very strangely. It dawned on me they were wondering why this Mexican woman can't speak Spanish. I wiped the sweat from my brow and noticed my tan was running. "Where's your nearest Wal-mart?" I asked.
The small crowd that had gathered laughed. "Wal-mart, ha, cheaper than Wal-mart."
"Taco, burrito, enchilada, holy frijoles," I showed off all the Spanish I knew in one sentence.
They pointed down the road. "Taqueria." It was like a mirage. A corner store that looked like a lean to. I went in, "Diet coke and uno taco - no - dos tacos." He laughed and said something in Spanish. I gave him a five dollar bill. "Pesos." I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. He wasn't amused. "Pesos." I took a Twinkie out of my backpack, ready for negotiation. "America," he said.
"Si," I answered. "Hotel-olio." I said. Sounded Spanish to me. He looked at me like I was crazy. I put my hands together and laid my cheek on them to signal "sleep." He laughed. He signaled me to follow him. He led me to behind the store until I could view a hammock. Did I just immigrate to Gilligan's Island? Desperate for sleep I laid in the hammock until the sun came up the next morning.
I opened my eyes and there was a small crowd gathered, mostly children. And Policio. "Can you show us your passport?" One of them said. "Sure," I said as I turned to get out of the hammock and it rolled over and I was on the ground.....just like Gilligan's Island. My backpack was gone. No Twinkies. No passport. Thieves.
So I spent some time trying to work my way back through the red tape, working with the American Embassy, trying to prove my identity. It would have been easier to take the same trail came from and illegally entered back into my own country. So I have had no access to a computer to update my blog. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
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