People are nice here.
Yesterday my car died. I sat in it for quite a while, praying and turning the key, listening to the nothing that was happening under my hood. I thought about my options, which were limited since I didn’t bring either my phone or my purse with me on this particular jaunt. I could walk the four miles home in the blazing sun up and down the hilly roads or I could walk around until I found a mechanic who could get my car started. Fortunately for me, there was a mechanic two blocks away.
The man has the two of the most pathetic, matted, filthy, sad poodle dogs I have ever seen. I wanted to cry and shave them at the same time. In comparison, his shop was spotless and meticulously organized. He has a metal rack with any number of plastic jars, each labeled with the small parts contained inside. There wasn’t an speck of dirt on the floor. Priorities, I guess.
He basically told me that if I tried to drive my car home, the battery would blow up and then he prepared to leave me with the truck so I pulled an old “whitey” trick and asked him point blank for a ride. Mexicans have a hard time refusing a direct request, so yeah, maybe I bullied him into it, but hey, I wasn’t walking and I didn’t have any change for the bus (if I could even figure out which one to take). I was fully prepared to pay the dude when I got home and to my wallet. Of course, he refused payment because Mexicans are nice like that. Today I’m going back by to have him fix the truck, his reward for helping me so generously.
Lesson learned: always bring your cell phone and purse with you.
