“I Got Tore Up and the Police Came”

I hate to admit it, but for the first time in my life I got tore up. As they say, “When in Mexico, do as the Mexicans do!”  It happened the day before I left, which didn’t make for a comfortable airplane ride home.  After a couple of days back here, I still felt bad so I decided to go to the doctor.  He looked at me and said, “Would you do it again?” I told him I’d do it in a heartbeat.  I then told him about being in the jungle and gliding down the chords hundreds of feet in the air on the canopy tour.  He looked closer at the bites that tore up my legs, arms and back. They itched profusely! He said, “I don’t know what exactly bit you, but it tore you up pretty good!”  He gave me some steroids and antibiotics and I was on my way.  (-;

I was thinking happy thoughts in the taxi ride on the way to the airport to come home.  Suddenly there are flashing lights and the driver pulls over. “La policia?” I ask.  “Si” says Mr. Taxi Driver.  Supposedly my guy had been trying to get rid of me a little bit too fast and was pulled over for speeding.  He pulls out his driver’s license for the cops.  Wow, his license was so faded.  You know when your child brings home a picture colored with markers that was wet in the rain?  It’s smeared beyond belief and all you see are blended colors?  Well, this was my guy’s license.  The cop looked at the license in disbelief and then went to his car to run a check.  When he returns he tells my driver that his license expired last year and he needs to step out of the car.

ARE YOU SERIOUS?  I just had a wonderful vacation and now I’m five minutes away from being featured on Spanish Cops. “Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?” Where are Will Smith and Martin Lawrence when you need them? I started to get anxious. What would happen if he was arrested?  I didn’t want to miss my flight.  Should I hop out and try to get another taxi?  I thought about taking a picture of the situation.  Yeah, never mind, that’s not a good idea.  My driver left the car running with the keys in the ignition.  For a brief second I thought about driving myself to the airport. Luckily Yeager Ranger had a reality check: 1. I don’t know where I’m going.  2. Duh, the police are right behind me.

Mr. Taxi Driver returned about 10 minutes later with a rather lengthy speeding ticket.  He seemed embarrassed so I didn’t say much about it.  We arrived at the airport in plenty of time and the rest is history!!!

M.Y. October 2007