Day 8

New Friends.

So, this morning I did the dishes from the past 3 days (bowls of cereal and the remnants of a relatively successful quesadilla experience), put some laundry in the wash, and even went so far as to sweep the floor.  I don't know where dirt and lint balls and other foreign material comes from--I'm the only one who lives here, right?--but there was a gross amount of it, so I figured I'd sweep off the few beers I had last night and improve my situation.  While sweeping, I found the following under the counter in the kitchen:

The little guy is only maybe 2 inches long, but I wasn't exactly stoked to realize that I had to add scorpions to the list of things to avoid while in Mexico.  The short list now reads as follows:

1. Drug cartels
2. Prostitutes
3. Dysentery
4. Scorpions

At the moment, the list is still very manageable.  I mean, not that I can really control the drug cartels (neither can the Mexican government though, so I don't feel too bad about this), but I am pretty positive I can avoid them easily enough.  I'm working on a plan called Operation Pancho Villa.  You can expect to hear more on this in a later blog.

But anyways, what the heck do scorpions eat??  My only information on scorpions comes from movies, where scorpions are employed as a painfully slow way to kill someone (like in a James Bond movie, though I don't remember Sean Connery or Roger Moore ever squirming to avoid a swarm of scorpions).  So, needless to say, I'm clearly well-informed on the matter.  I just don't know what scorpions eat, other than humans, I guess.  Are they attracted to peanut butter or anything?  To be perfectly candid, my biggest fear is that scorpions like boxers, or worse, boxer briefs.  THE VERY LAST THING I NEED is to get out of the shower and slip on some underoos, only to find I wasn't the first to call dibs on that particular pair.

In addition to insects, I have managed to meet a few people.  I went downtown Friday night and met a couple of British guys while at the Back Stage Bar.  Let's call them Pancho and Lefty.  I met Pancho first.  He's a South Londoner who's lived in Mexico for 2 years.  The 48 year old speaks excellent Spanish and is here writing a book, not about last year, but the year before that.  It just now struck me that he's more or less doing the same thing I am, only after he's had a full year to digest it.  Best of luck to you, Pancho.  In the course of the night I saw Pancho:

1. spray shoe deodorant on his armpits (yep), and
2. completely lose his head after he lost his table (stepped outside for 5-10 minutes, group of people sat at the empty table... honest mistake) and say the most offensive thing I know of in Spanish to the amiable, older gentleman who was working the tables.

Lefty was way nicer, despite the fact that his girlfriend confessed that she wanted to cheat on him, only an hour before I met him.  She hadn't yet cheated on him (questionable), but she totally wanted to apparently.  Super weird.  Regardless, real nice guy.  Pancho had told me to watch out for Lefty, as he could get out of control, but it was the complete opposite.  Pancho said at one point: "You know if this was England, we'd be bottling people right now!" (i.e. smashing beer bottles on people's heads), to which Lefty replied, "Oh sure."  Just then I remembered that thing that I had been planning on doing, that thing I had to go do, like, RIGHT NOW...

Also that night I met a guy who's name really is Pancho (he's the matre'di at a really good sandwich shop), who loves foreigners, but especially Americans.  Jon, who lived here before me, described him as a puppy who is constantly humping your leg.  Disturbingly accurate.  Halfway through dinner, I sent Jon a text that read: "I just had my leg humped QUITE vigorously."  Jon, with missing a beat, texted back: "You need to get a little spray bottle or a rolled newspaper and treat him like a puppy... BTW, he loves the Buffalo Bills."  This gringo just might have to invest in a fanny pack.  Pancho, before taking my order, tried to impress me with all the "slang" that his friend from Chicago taught him.  His friend is supposedly a cook at Wrigley Field (dream job), but based on the slang Pancho shared with me, I think the friend probably has a second job in the porn industry.  Almost lost my appetite.

I also met a guy named Gabriel.  His dad owns the Back Stage Bar where I met the two Brits, although Gabriel's far more mellow than either of them, and speaks English just as well.  Gabriel is someone I expect I'll hang out with from time to time while I'm here, whereas Pancho, Pancho, and Lefty...  probably not so much.


PS.  I have friends at work, promise.  Haven't really said anything much about them yet, but they're great and I'm sure I'll get to them soon.  Over and out.