Remember that part in The Amityville Horror where they first go to check out the house and it (in a rather urgent manner reinforced by the use of a voice that gives new meaning to ‘guttural’) instructs them to “GET OUT.”?
Two things have always struck me about that moment:
1. An inanimate object’s – in this case, a house – powerful sense of boundaries.
2. The human beings’ complete and total disregard of said request/order.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I climb into a rental car and it starts shrieking about how it’s going to twist me up in a fiery ball of molten metal or even just whispers something about how I’d make a nice hood ornament, and I’m out of there. No delays. No questions asked.
Same with a house that utilizes the voice of Satan to share an opinion about whether or not I lease the place.
I’m a child of the 70′s.
Best to heed the cultural wisdom, tune into the collective unconscious, and get the fuck out when you’re told.
That stated, in a mostly polite and largely incompetent way, Mexico gave me the old heave ho.
It started on Monday.
And – admittedly – 99% of the problem, or at least the incompetence part, was Telcel. Telcel is – from what I can tell – a very large cell phone and wifi and maybe other stuff it can’t do well provider. It’s also owned by the richest man in the world, Carlos Slim Helu. These two facts (large/incompetent Mexican company and richest man in the world) may or may not be a coincidence.
I say not.
Considering Telcel has managed to embezzle $75 out of my tight ass in just two weeks, I’d be impressed if I weren’t pissed.
So as not to devolve into the category known as ‘general bitching’ let me summarize and say it was an experience that can only be described as an extremely frustrating, time-consuming, and largely bullshit internet experience.
But it’s not just Slim and his crap ass company that showed me the door.
There was a trifecta: Internet, Rash, and Bugs – also known as RIB.
When the RIB situation starts to unfold, you know it’s time to head north.
In addition to my extensive and expensive internet woes, I broke out in a massive itchy rash all over the lower half of my body. I never nailed the culprit, but it was either my Mexican-bought SPF 15 or my “Lecha de Burra” cream that caused it.
You read that right.
I’m a friggin’ idiot.
You think I might have given pause at buying a lotion called “Milk of the Ass,” but no.
I didn’t really look at the packaging.
Or the words.
Or the picture of a donkey with a wreath around its neck.
I was basing my decision on smell.
And donkey milk smells damn good, apparently.
It sure does cause a hell of a rash though. Or the sunblock.
Either way, I was so freaked out, I didn’t apply anything to my skin for the last three days.
Finally, rounding out the RIB, were the insects.
First came the fruit flies.
Then the house flies.
And then, there I was, lying on my stomach working out my lower back, when I noticed several grains of rice crawling around. And then my brain started it’s slow turn around the hamster wheel, and I realized that rice doesn’t wriggle.
And I never made any rice.
And those are MAGGOTS.
Jumpin’ Jesus on a Pogo Stick MAGGOTS.
Oh, the horror.
Did you know maggots burst when you crush them under your flip-flop?
A nice, satisfying pop
Long story short, Mexico showed me the door – at least for now – and I graciously exited stage left.
But no worries.
In the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger via one of the ten DVDs I had with me: I’ll be back.