Mexico 2004

Freshman year of college, I was about 275 lbs and about 6'2''. I drank a lot; it was the way to go. One day in January I get a call from Toby.

Toby: “Greg?"

Me: "yeah"

Toby: "it's Toby. From high school."

Me: "uh, you mean Toby from Claremont high?"

Toby: "yeah, I think we were pretty much best friends for like two years."

Me: "yeah."

Toby: "yeah."

Me: "uh, what's up dude?"

Toby: "a bunch of us are going down to Yo's at UCSD, and then TJ, you down?"

Me: "I guess, I mean, yeah, I’m down."

Toby: "catch a ride with the Eastons; they're leaving at like 7."

Me: "ok"

    so that was that. Mexico by way of UCSD, only I had a half a tank of gas, no passport, and 3 dollars to my name. It was Wednesday; I had until Friday to really figure things out. Step 1: psychology experiment. Two hours of sitting in front of a beat down Macintosh computer pushing the "up" arrow if the letters on the screen formed a word and the "down" arrow if they didn't. I’m not sure if the test measured my ability to discern words or my willingness to care, because after about 45 minutes I had my eyes shut and would just push randomly. That was 14 bucks of easy money.

    14 bucks would probably pay my way into the club and a good tip for the bartender, but nothing else... no meals, no drink'n bread, no cigarettes, no bus ticket, no bail money. I decided I had to take drastic action. I sold my math book; truth be told I never went to class, and the girl who was in my class who lived in my hall had her own book. Plus I sold it to my roommate, so I could always borrow it if I needed to. Bam, that 85 bucks brought the grand total to 99 dollars.

    Next stop: San Diego

    we get there about 8pm and hang out at Yo's place with his crazy suitemates (who are now inconsequential mainly because they were “partied out” and did not have the money to go to Mexico (because who has money after filling up the gas tank on an Escalade?)) and we decide to catch a bus to the border. Out to the parking lot, we get in line and chill when the bus of all busses pulls up. It’s a school bus, or it was a school bus, but it had been converted to a puke-trap on wheels. the bench seats inside were the hard plastic you see on city busses, and the large trashcans strategically placed throughout the bus made it perfectly clear that nothing was to hit the floor or the seats.

    I try and strike up some sober conversation on the bus, but every time I talk to a girl, or smile at her, some meat-head is either holding her hand or glaring at me. Not one for (sober) confrontations, I would move on, until there was no one left to move on to, then I just looked down at the floor. even if there were a girl within ear-shot of me who was willing to be yelled at, the bus was loaded down with unnecessary sound equipment, enough to make the windows mysteriously drop down a step at some particularly loud moments of a song.

    By the time we got to the border, I was thirsty, deaf, and craving cheap cigarettes. It would have to wait, because I was not about to pay 5 dollars for a pack of smokes when I could walk 100 yards and buy one for 2. so we walked across the border; for all intents and purposes, it was myself, my buddy jimmy (who by this point I had known for 15 years), Toby, Nathan, and a plethora of people who will escape mentioning and description (partly because I forget, and partly because I don't give a shit).

    Before I continue, I must describe the guys in question.

    Jimmy-aka dimesack- 5'11'' skinny, white, republican, heavy drinker. HEAVY drinker.

    Nate-aka Steadman- 6'4'' brick house type of guy, we refer to him as our idiot savant because despite having a 4.4 GPA in high school he once said, "if we're gonna bone, we should prolly go out." drinks and smokes like a champ.

    Toby- aka Toby- 5'10'' regular sized, glasses could drink his fair share, but usually showed restraint (except on his 21st birthday, which will have to be another story all together.) he had a girlfriend who brought some friends with her.   (keep that in mind)

    So there's about 10 of us all together on the first bus, and another half dozen or so on the second bus, we decide not to wait, because Mexico is fucking sketch to begin with and no I don't want to buy any goddamn cheeklay. we saw some Mexican guy who was dressed almost dapper and was yelling "club safari" which is apparently where we were going to be headed that night, so we all walked with him to his cab.

    he gave us this look like, "uh, shit." but we were like "fuck it, it's Mexico, we wont get the ticket" and just like that 10 college kids standing on the curb became 10 college kids crammed inside a taxi. I refused to ride up front, because I hate riding shotgun with people I don't know, so Yo and Ryan jumped up there leaving me, Toby, Nate, Jimmy and all the girls for the back. We had 5 on the canvas bench seat sans seatbelts and 3 on the laps, and we were off.

    To say his driving was bad would be an understatement. It didn't help that I had a girl on my lap who was almost my size (truth) and who must have enjoyed my constant yelling "ow my balls" every time we hit a fucking pothole. By the time we hit the cab stand by the club, I was sure that my dick was dead. Thankfully it wasn't as I quickly relieved myself in a dark almost-alley crevice between two buildings.

    The ten of us got in line at the club and I bought a pack of Marlboro lights off this girl on the street who couldn't even have been 10 years old. I gave her 3 dollars and she smiled. The club manager came out and yelled some shit in Spanish, and the girl got scared and left with her mom and her sister. And my dollar.

    The club was empty when we got there, but we didn't care, we roll so deep that as long as we have some liquor, we'll be the spot. I jimmy and Nate and a couple others got two tables and we began drinking. Two beers at a time from the bar which was about 7 feet from the table I was sitting at.

                So we're sitting within a combat roll of the bar and drinking beers hand over fist as fast as we can pour them into our mouths. I take breaks every couple beers to smoke a cigarette or three and the college kids begin packing the place slowly as I get more and more drunk. Understand: I do not dance sober, and even though I do "dance" after a lot of booze, it only seems like dancing, that said, I was the designated table guardian.

I just sat there drinking beer after beer for at least two hours. I never had to wait in line, since when we first got there I put a five dollar bill in the guy's shirt who was pouring the Pacifico from the 40's in the ice chest into the college kids' cups. he was the first man I had ever purchased, because when he saw my giant head in behind one of the many sluts or bros in front of him he'd call me (almost by name) "gringo" to the front of the line for another two cups full and when I tried to put more money in his tip jar, he just said "no" and patted his chest pocket where Abe Lincoln sat alone.

By the time everyone got there from our little crew I was about ten beers deep and done with my first pack of cigarettes. One of the girls was tired, so I told her to "chill the fuck out. ima go find some cigarettes, you want anything?" but I left before she could answer, I didn't really care and would have either forgotten her drink or my cigarettes by the time I got to wherever the fuck I was going, and I was NOT prepared to give up the smokes. I started walking towards the chick-drink bar (aka bitch bar) where they were serving watered down jack and cokes to sorority girls, because it looked promising.

I made it to the bar and started making the universal sign for "smoke" with my hand, because I never took Spanish in high school or college and was, at this point probably too drunk to fake it. The bartender watched me for a good 10 seconds and says "we don't sell cigarettes inside, down the street."

Fuck that.

But God Damnit! I needed a cigarette, I made my way to the door when a guy in a yellow sport coat put his hand on my chest.

Guy: "heya, where you heading?"

Me: “cigarettes! Down the street!"

Guy: “come on, you serious? I’ll get you a pack; I wouldn't leave if I were you."

Me: “whatever, Marlboro lights dude."

The guy goes to the bar, walks behind it and comes back with a pack of Marlboro lights. I am now aware that he is a club manager or something like that and apparently college kids getting mugged or arrested would be bad for business, so he pulled some strings and sold me "the last pack." I paid him four bucks said thanks and walked back towards the table. of course I had to walk past the lying bartender, and I was drunk, and I like to shoot off at the mouth when I’m tipsy, but the club was too loud so I didn't waste my time. I stopped right in front of the bar and threw the wrapper on the ground, lit a cigarette and looked right at the guy who lied to me a 3 minutes before. I flipped him off, and returned to the table.

Fast forward to an hour later, because I don't really recall anything interesting besides a half dozen more beers and a cigarette with each one. I decide I want to go rub my crotch on some strangers, so I hit the dance floor. I was not easily missed, especially in my "club shirt." it was bright blue. Sky blue. I’m that guy. I was fat, but at least I wasn't the guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cabana hat making everyone dance and sing to stupid songs. You’re all welcome.

I walked around the club waiting for a decent looking lady to look at me and not giggle to her girlfriends. I saw a girl standing by herself on the other side of the floor, and I thought it'd be a good idea to go talk to her. She was wearing a bus bracelet like me, so I thought I’d strike up a conversation with her using that as an "in."

Me:"so's, yer wearin the bracelit for the bus?"

Her: "yeah." she smiles… interesting.

Me: "I realize my words are heavily slurred and I’m about 10 inches taller and easily 170 pounds heavier, but when I’m drunk I’m light on my feet."

Her: "are you asking me to dance?"

Me: "does that mean you won’t say no?" I grin, and she giggles. I grab her hand with my non-beer hand (I had switched from 2 to 1 so I could walk the floor.)

We dance for a bit in the middle of the floor and it's getting pretty hot. She is basically trying to fuck me through my clothes, and I don't mind. I finish my beer and toss it onto the ground, I’m really not caring about mother earth at this point, and it’s Mexico, so the litter bug song was not exactly ringing in my ears. Apparently she was really into me, and I was, well... drunk. She could have been hot, there is no certainty, but she was helping herself, and I dared not protest.

Until she unzipped my pants. Say what you will say about scoring, but having my dick out on the dance floor in a foreign nation with 500 of my closest and drunkest friends is definitely not my idea of a good time.

me:"hey hey hey. Hold it now."

Her: "what? You okay?"

Me: "dude, we're in a club"

Her: "no one’s going to see, come on, I don't mind..."

Me:" how about I get your number, I go get another beer, and we finish this back in the states after we get off the bus?"

Her: “ok."

She gives me her phone number, but I give her the phone to type in her name, since I don't know it... and she hands it back to me as I zip up. I head back across the dance floor and see Toby and Nate hanging out at the table with Toby’s girlfriend and one of her friends. I wink at them as I walk to the front of the line and get two more beers and bring them back to the table. I plop one down in front of Nate, who by this point is sweating like usual. Dancing with him was probably like having him guard you in basketball, except with a boner, I’d rather not think about it, but the ladies seemed to dig it, so more power to him.

It was at this time that I caught wind of a doings. “A doings” is how we refer to shady shit, usually perpetrated by myself or jimmy. Toby’s girl brought her friend to be set up with jimmy. Jimmy is an asshole, and I mean that in the best sense of the word. He has this charm about him that allows him to tell a girl that she's useless and ugly, and then inside of ten minutes be making out with her. (As an aside, I would like to point out that no one ever brings a friend to set up with me, which is fine, because I am an asshole in the bad sense, where I tell them they're useful and pretty, hook up and then tell them I lied.)

Jimmy finally stumbles back to the table, and by this time I’m dancing for fun with Toby’s girl because he is tired or sloppy drunk as is often the case; the real reason is for him to monitor the situation between jimmy and the girl, but jimmy is doing just fine, so Toby gets up and takes his girl back, leaving me to dance with another buddy's girlfriend while he is in the pisser. Which reminded me that I had to piss, and apparently so did my buddy's girlfriend. I didn't know where the bathrooms were, so I made her lead me across the now packed dance floor. It was trouble, a man of my size being pulled by a 5'0'' Japanese girl, and by trouble, I mean hilarious. She could fit through gaps I couldn't even see and not think anything of it, thus pulling me into unsuspecting people with each shoulder.

One guy had something to say about it.

Guy: “what the fuck man, I spilled my..."

Me: “they’re fucking free get over yourself." and I was gone, slipping in between more poor victims. it wasn't until we were halfway across the floor that she stopped pulling, and by the time I caught up to her I noticed her standing toe to toe and nose to tits with a black chick who easily went 5'9'' and a good deuce and dime. I could not exactly hear the words, or make them out in the darkness of the club and the haze of my intoxication, but all of a sudden, my friend let go of my hand and one punched this girl to the ground. I almost broke the seal in my pants, but instead I saw the door to the bathroom about 10 yards away and a pretty big hole, so I played fullback.

I grabbed her hand and jumped over her victim and pulled her to the bathroom line, which was about two or three girls long, but as we came up the bathroom door opened and I slingshotted her in.

Girl in line:"hey, we were in line! The fuck is that?"

Me: “she was going to shit her pants, she'll be out in a minute." and with that I ran into the men's bathroom. Or should I say the drain room, since the floor was sticky with piss and the flies buzzed like Japanese zeros in Pearl Harbor. I didn't wait for a position in the trough to open up, because frankly there was no fucking point. It was either get everyone's piss on my legs from the trough-splash or get mine on my shoes from the ground splash, and at this point pissing on my shoes was looking pretty good. I didn't even wash my hands, it wouldn’t' have done any good to touch those sink handles.

I ended up back at the table with another round of beers and saw jimmy making out with the girl. I turned to my left to hand a beer off to Toby, when I saw the girl to be set up with jimmy staring at him in awe. Apparently while I was taking a piss, jimmy had found his ex-girlfriend and began making out with her in front of his new friend. I looked at Toby who sat three feet from the brooding pair and he had his head in his hands, while his girlfriend stood behind her friend and rubbed her back.

This is when I hit scavenger mode. I tapped the girl on the knee.

Me: "hey don't worry, he thinks she is you, you should be happy."

Her: "thanks, but that really doesn't help."

Me: "after I finish this beer, let's dance; it'll do you no good not to watch, unless you're into that."

Her:" hurry."

I pound the beer and light two cigarettes, one for me and one for my dance partner. She doesn't smoke, so I end up having to tag team them both while trying to distract this girl from captain smooth and his ex. I look at Toby’s girl, and I give her the nastiest wink and smile I have ever given any human ever as her friend backed her ass up into me and stepped on my piss covered shoes. She half smiled and started talking to Toby again. Then it happened. (As I mention this, please note that this could be the first of the escape acts perpetrated by jimmy.) Jimmy jumped up and ran out of the club to the streets of Tijuana. It’s time to go. I look at my watch, it's 130 in the morning, and it’s fair to leave now after consuming so much alcohol. I smack the girl I’m dancing with one on her ass and grab my last beer. She grabs my wrist as I am leaving, but when I turned and looked at her, she was looking away, so I shook her off and kept walking.

We made it out of the club and were waiting for a taxi cab while jimmy sat on the curb un-digesting his dinner and desert. The club managers came out in the inconspicuous yellow sport coats and were begging us to come back inside until the cab got there. Jimmy, being the tough guy he is declined in very colorful language between purges, and we stuck by him. Our cabbie was nervous about letting us in his cab but I kept using my 20 beer Spanish

Him:"[Spanish Spanish Spanish]"

Me: "esta okay, no megusta, anda-lay"

Him: "Como"

Me: "anda-lay, speedy Gonzales, vroom vroom." I waved my hands about like I was aware of what I was trying to say, but I kept a straight face, so he believed me, or something, either way, we got into the cab, and after one and a half rosaries we were back at the border.

All the good friends were too drunk to remember to pay the cabby of course, so I got stuck with poor guy who no espeeka, and me who no comprendeme Espanol. I reach into my pocket and find my license and my cell phone but no cash. I yell at my fleeing friends but no one responds. It is at this point where I know what I have to do, and this is what makes me feel bad to this day. I began to cough violently in the back seat of the cab and stall while my friends got farther and farther away, and I got out, still coughing and double over in the gutter. He gets out and I wave him away, when his back is turned, I take one deep breath and let it loose.

By the time he turned around I was about 15 feet in front of the double-parked cab. He would be stupid to leave it there, running, with the keys in it, but he chased me for about fifty yards until I turned the corner and was in sight of the border area. By the time I got there, he was either tired, dead or pissed off and had given up. I caught up to my friends just in time for jimmy to regain consciousness and attempt to cross the border on his own accord. He stumbled, presented his ID to the immigration officer, and held onto the counter for dear life.

Guard: "reason for visiting Mexico."

Jimmy: "under aged drinking!"

Guard: "well, are you drunk right now son?"

Jimmy: "no, however I did puke after watching the donkey show." I and Toby were in stitches watching this, even though apparently it’s a pretty serious offense, or something.

Guard: "alright son, take it..." before he could finish talking, jimmy fell face down on the ground.

Jimmy: "U.S.A! U.S.A!" his chant echoed throughout the office and roused the sleeping marine in the customs office about a hundred yards into America. Of course Toby and I joined and the stunned customs official gave jimmy his i.d. back while he kissed the ground and kept the chant going. When I crossed I told the guard I had been fishing, he smirked. Toby, being half Mexican and fully drunk pretended to lose his license, but promised he was an American citizen. The guard did not find this very funny, especially since the chant was still going as strong as ever with an Indian family still on the Mexico side joined in briefly. Toby and I picked jimmy off the ground and firemen carried him to the bus past a laughing marine and an obviously scared detainee.

Jimmy wasn't done puking, but since it took place in America, it doesn't matter to the story. Just know that he never made it to the toilet, but the bag for his sleeping bag is surprisingly able to hold partially digested whiskey. I woke up next to the girl he was supposed to be with, spooning with her hair in my mouth. Needless to say nothing happened, we now refer to her as snaggletooth; not one of my finest moments. I never called the girl I met from the bus, who we dubbed the Club Hand Job Queen, or for short “hjq,” truthfully I still don't know her name because I lost my phone the next weekend and couldn't recover any numbers. Any girl who I talk to after a dozen beers is probably nothing to lose sleep over, so I just forgot about it.

And that is why I can never go to Mexico again, and why I hate it, and it hates me.