Something that I love about Mexico is that the people here are very self reliant. If they cant find a job, they make one up. Selling, candy, tamales, tacos, ice-cream in the street, or creating their own tienda. There are tiendas in literally every street. Tiendas are like mini gas-stations... without the gas. They have everything. Potato chips, candy, soda, eggs, fruit about to go bad, toilet paper, and any other random thing that you think someone might need to by in an emergency. Now think of that one time when your family went on a road trip. To save time, they stopped by a Sonic for lunch and you ordered an extra large slushy. Remember how about an hour later you were desperately pleading for your parents to stop at the nearest gas station to use the bathroom. Coincidentally that happened to be the most nasty gas-station you have ever seen in your life but you had to do what you had to do and afterward did your best to erase that moment from your memory. Okay, well now that you remember it, times that disgustingness about a hundred fold and you've got a typical Mexican tienda.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
That one time I got sick in Mexico, Part Dos
It came out from the top. You know, just in case you were curious. I got to taste all that delicious chicken and salsa a second time, and when I was done, felt a new strength fill me. I left that bathroom with a skip in my step, we said our Gracias for the meal, and headed back out to the street to work.
About 5 minutes into our walk we passed by our favorite Senora de Raspados. We're pretty tight with her. She lets us sit and chill in her shade as we snack on our Raspados. This time only Hna. Bautista got to enjoy the sweet goodness of those homemade snow cones. I'm not so stupid as to eat a sugar-bomb only 5 minutes after emptying everything in my stomach, as she ate, we began to contact everyone else who passed by. With each minute that passed by I felt someone turning up the bubble notch in my Jacuzzi stomach. Bit by bit I began to talk less and slump lower and lower in my bucket seat by the side of the dusty road. Within 10 minutes, my companion was the only one talking and others had begun to tell me how white I looked. Now considering that I am significantly whiter than 99% of the people here, that's saying a lot. So ending the contact we began looking for a place that could possibly sell that heavenly pink thing called Peptobismal.
About 6 steps away from our last contact we came across a tienda. Entering, my companion asked if they sold meds and I asked if they had a bathroom. At this moment, the people began to move incredibly slow. It was as though they weren't familiar with the word "bano" and didn't know where to turn. But I couldn't wait for them. Things were becoming urgent. That sourer taste had become quite potent in the back of my throat and I knew I didn't have much time. I kept telling my companion "ahora! bano ahora!" hoping that hearing it with her Mexican accent would help them move faster. I guess it worked because some guy in a yellow shirt emerged from a mound of tortilla chips and started guiding us through a maze of towers formed of paper-towels, dog food, cooking oil, and beans.
But he couldn't walk fast enough! I felt it coming up and there was no stopping it. My hands flew to my mouth. No not yet! We havent even made it past the pile of pineapples! My companion must have seen my body reflex and began to push me from behind as well. But the yellow shirt was still in my way! It started to come up again. No! My hands pressed even harder against my mouth but even still, a few squirts came out through the fingers. Why wont he walk faster! Does he not like his yellow shirt? I guess I can make it ty-dye. Finally he moved, the doorway appeared, and I threw myself into the darkness once more.
To be continued...