Some Days (I’m) More Crazy Than Others

Some Days (I’m) More Crazy Than Others

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            Q: Does that mean I’m crazier some days than others or does it mean that I’m crazier than other people?

            A: Yes

            I dread to tell this story on myself. I could keep it secret. I’m committed to honesty in my writing. So, here’s today’s story, warts and all.

            My day began peacefully. I felt tranquil. Almost blissful. I had decided to write about how crazed we Americanos become when things do not go our way, based on my observations—which I felt to be valid because after four years living here, I’m almost Mexican.

            Culturally, we Americans have decidedly different attitudes than Mexican people.  Nowhere does this seem more obvious than with our expectations.

            Typically, we from up north figure out ahead of time just how we think a situation should unfold, in elaborate detail.

Typically, Mexican people wait for a situation to unfold with no expectations, shrug their shoulders when there are detours in the road and accept the outcome with grace. 

Let me give you an example. A few years ago four of us gringos went on a Christmas tour bus from Mazatlan to Guadalajara. On the return trip, at two in the morning, our bus broke down, leaving us stranded outside of Tepic, several hours from Mazatlan. We sat alongside the highway until mid-morning, around ten or eleven before another bus arrived to shuttle us to Mazatlan.

What was glaringly obvious to we four Americans was the different attitude. Our Mexican fellow-travelers took the whole breakdown in stride. Nobody got visibly upset. People napped, shared food, laughed and talked quietly, in murmurs. Not one person raised his voice. There was no cell service. It is the way it is. We’ll get there when we get there.

We speculated that, were the situation reversed, we’d likely hear, loudly, “What do you mean we can’t get help immediately?” “I have a conference to attend.” “I have to be at work in the morning at eight.” “What are we going to eat?” “I demand a refund and compensation for my discomfort and missed work.” “This is unacceptable. I demand . . .” Everybody would have a cell phone activated, making frantic calls, sharing their calls with one and all.

Today I had intended to describe how my friends, when they arrive for a short period of time, expect everybody who works and lives here to drop their own schedule and cater to the “short-timer’s” special needs. After all, Sondra, you live here full time, so you can get your work done anytime and I need this built, painted, tore out, remodeled, installed right now, while I’m here a mere three weeks.

I felt rather smug that I’m flexible; I take daily boulders in my path in stride. Almost Mexican. When the man scheduled to fix a small problem with my oven didn’t show up Friday and rescheduled for Wednesday, no problem. When I discovered my debit card had expired, I shrugged. I’d have my daughter chase down my new card and UPS it to me. No problem. No worry. I have a small stash of pesos.

Smug. Operative word is “smug”. I should have known I’d get instant karmic payback. 

Coming Saturday I’ve been invited to go to Mazatlan, to be a tourist for a week.  

I‘d better count my pesos. Oops. Not enough. Gulp.

 So I contacted American Express to let them know I’m in Mexico and wish to use my AE credit card to access cash from the ATM.  Everything is good.

Until an hour later the ATM in town confiscated my credit card, chewed it up and refused to spit it out. Surprise!

Frantic, I knew I needed to let AE know what happened and to respectfully request they issue a new card. That chore took a mere two hours. Do you hear my sarcasm? Is that a growl in my throat?

My serenity tanked. Tranquility—a joke. Bliss, not in this lifetime. My American Self reared her head in near-panic. Slammed said head against the boulder in her path. No shrug. No acceptance. Frantic. What am I going to do? How will I have enough money to last me until one of my cards arrives, which I know from past experience could take weeks? Customs can be a bear-trap. Will I have to cancel my trip to Mazatlan? Beans and tortillas on the menu?  

In the grand scheme of life, I know this is not even a pimple. But it is my pimple.

Sigh. Culturally, I’m still very much a crazy American who wants things to go the way I want them to go, and I want it now, much to my shame.  

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

November 16, 2017

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