Strange Mexico: A Few Details Emerge

We shuffled into our hotel, poison-drenched roaches certain that the bird poop was our flashing neon sign. Once in the room, I stripped my shirt and stuck my head under the shower. Those were the two places where the hit seemed to concentrate. Lorrie was doing the same things, albeit in somewhat different order. Only then did the details start to make themselves known.

details
Casa Decu Suite

While Lorrie finished her clean up, I wandered back into our little dining area. My passport, room key and wallet were on the kitchenette table. The vague discontinuities of our encounter were still ping-ponging in my brain. Bird poop! Four Mexicans come as itinerant saviors!

For some still unknown reason, I decided to open my wallet. Everything was as it should be. The details seemed to line up. Driver’s license. Yes. Cash. Yes, both dollars and pesos. Credit cards. “Lorrie, all my credit cards are gone.”

“What? You’re kidding,” she called from the adjacent bedroom.

“Nope. They’re gone. All of them. Every single one.”

In that rush of reality, Lorrie inspected our clothing again. The brown stain of bird poop was unmistakable. “Lee,” she exclaimed. “It smells like soy sauce. It’s… It’s soy sauce! Here, smell it!”

details
Lorrie, rooftop patio, Casa Decu (copyright Leland E. Hale)

By the time I got off the phone with my bank, an hour and a half had vanished. The good news was, I’d initiated the call only ten minutes after our encounter with ¡Viva Mexico! and his tres compañeros. At the twenty-five minute mark, they tried to use the credit cards. One was an attempted $3K purchase at a chain retailer called Liverpool. It was a fail. Blocked. By that time, the tacos al pastor were stone cold. I ate them anyway.

The funny thing was, we’d been to a different Liverpool earlier in the day, getting our Ballet Folklorico tickets from a Ticketmaster outlet hidden in the bowels of that retail giant. Lorrie checked her pockets. We still had the tickets. There was a silver lining. Ok, maybe dusky gray. But a lining nonetheless.

Palacio de Bellas Artes, home of Ballet Folklorico (copyright Leland E. Hale)

The truth, revealed, came from a latent brain, whose random cells worked overtime trying to decode the magic tricks. That series of disconnects now, suddenly, in retrospect, made sense. The pickpocket was the middle-aged man with the glasses. The one who stood directly in front of me, the one who dabbed my head, while his associate swabbed a napkin down my leg as a ruse to scoop my wallet off the ground.

And here’s the true magic. The pickpocket grabbed the wallet back from his accomplice and RETURNED it to my front pants pocket. Get that: my front pants pocket. By returning the wallet to its proper place, they were trying to buy time from two stupid American tourists. In a choreographed move, I’m certain his accomplice simultaneously slunk off to their waiting vehicle, credit cards in hand.

Masterful, yes. They had the details down. I imagine them laughing as they drove away, giddy with adrenaline, joyously repeating, ¡Viva Mexico! They were probably too good for their own good.

The ballet, by the way, was wonderful.

Interior, Palacio de Bellas Artes (copyright Leland E. Hale)

A Strange Incident in Mexico

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *