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One more thing. When you get there, take a water taxi straight to Yelapa. Don’t mess around with the tourist beaches.
So, like, you’re kidding right?
Kidding? Hell no I’m not kidding. Look, girl. There are dragons out there.
You know, giant fire-spitting reptiles. El demandos. Dumbos in their all-too-revealing swimsuits who think elephants can fly.
It’s the god’s honest truth. You think I’d lie about something like that? I’ll tell you the whole story if you want.
Okay, go for it. I’m hanging on every word.
Look, don’t be a smartass. This is for your own good.
If you say so. Go ahead.
The nightmare started at the airport. Everyone was lined up ready to go. Drooling kids in strollers get priority and fat people who need help boarding.
Don’t call them fat people. That’s mean.
Everybody knows like a third of Americans are obese. Don’t be such a snowflake.
Obese people waddle and sweat when they board the plane.
What’s disgusting Miss Goo Goo eyes is calling the airline Virgin. It’s no more a virgin than I am. Actually, strike that.
What’s wrong with my eyes?
Forget it. I’m trying to help you here.
I’m so into that gothic shit. Did I put on too much?
Listen girl, I’m telling you all this for your own good. They called it a “crew delay.”
Yea, like they forgot to schedule the crew. I know, sounds blow your face off crazy but they had to fly one in from Palm Springs. It was another hour before we boarded the plane.
You think I’d lie about something like this?
I’d of used the hour to do my nails. I always carry a few sets of fake nails in my purse, really good ones. You know what I mean?
Jesus, how many times are you going to interrupt? Pay attention.
Like we sit on the goddamn plane for another hour while they fix the cooling system. There’s a three-year-old sitting next to me pounding the back of the seat in front of her with ginormous black boots. The old geezer in front of her gets pissed. Flags down the stewardess who’s trying hard to pretend everything’s normal. Announces he’s gonna pee his pants.
Oh my God! Did he pee his pants right there in front of you?
You think? They opened the toilet Goo Goo eyes. It was like they opened the floodgates. A steady steam of hippos slide down the aisle to empty their bladders. Soon the plane reeks of …
Enough. TMI. So you finally took off. Right?
Jesus, let me finish. The takeoff was smooth but as soon as we reached our cruising altitude the plane started to pitch and roll. It was the worst turbulence I’ve experienced since having sex with Dick.
Didn’t I just say that?
No way. Not Dick.
Cross my heart. Do you want to know what happened when we got to the airport?
Not Dick. I just can’t believe you’d do it with Dick.
Don’t dwell on it. I did it, okay? Now, where was I?
Arriving at the airport.
Oh, right? Let’s see. About five planes landed simultaneously. Hordes of people were in the line for immigration. There was a mad scramble for the luggage claim. Then the line to clear customs wound back and forth like a Chinese dragon for miles and miles. When …
There you go with the dragon thing again.
Oh Christ. Like I was saying. When you finally reach customs a hoochie coo with mascara and lipstick half an inch thick asks you to “press the button.”
What’s this issue you’ve got with people’s eyes? Hey wait, she wants you to press her button? Huh?
It’s the random selection customs check machine, a Mexican invention. If it’s green you go on ahead. If it’s red, you’re dead. They pull you aside for the full search.
The full search?
Never mind. Only idiots get the red.
So that’s it?
Nope. Next you squeeze through a narrow room surrounded by the same obese Americans that got the preferential treatment in the boarding process. Hands and eyes worse than those of Donald Trump assault you with offers of “VIP” service, free tequila, cheap condo deals, even little sweet bites that will keep you on the toilet for your entire vacation if you accept them.
You finally make it through and guess what?
Jill off. I’m telling you this for your own good.
Well, if you make it out of the torture chamber, you discover you need a ticket for the taxi. And, that’s right, the stands selling tickets are back where you came from. Just as you throw your hands up in despair, a slick young man appears. It seems if you “don’t mind” paying “just a little more”, the nice taxi driver staring at your boobs will be happy to take you where you want to go. A tip for the slick young man would be appreciated also please.
In the meantime all those obese people waddling onto the plane ahead of you are now waddling toward the taxis. You quickly say “sure, let’s go” and hand over the pesos.
It turns out the taxi driver can get you “free” tequila and “anything else you want”. You decline obviously.
The taxi driver tells you how he was a racecar driver in Mexico City and Baja. To prove it he puts the pedal to the metal and the hand to the horn and hightails it past the fancy hotels and box stores, past the golf course and cruise ship berths where you see more obese Amercians. Along the Malecon in Old Town, the Zona Romantica, he schmoozes with the other taxi drivers stuck in traffic and invites one of the numerous tourist policewomen into the cab for a free ride.
Whew! I’m lost.
Just one more thing. When you get to Playa de los Muertos (It’s called Beach of the Dead for a reason) don’t even think about stopping. Take a water taxi straight to Yelapa and don’t go back until its time to fly out.
You make it sound horrible.
Well, it wasn’t near as bad as that report in the newspaper where a woman was arrested after she threatened to “f*cking kill” every single person on the flight after she was caught smoking in the bathroom and tampering with the smoke detector.
Must have been Virgin America?
Nope. Southwest. Flying Southwest is a bitch.
Jesus. So, how was Yelapa? I mean, REALLY, how was it?
Yelapa? Yelapa was great actually. Yea. It was great. Thanks for asking.
Yelapa, yes Yelapa…and Isabel, gods rest her soul.
Playa de los Muertos! I’m picturing it. Not unlike the Parliament scene in “The Ruling Class.” Mummies stiffly rubbing suntan oil on each other, then wading into the surf and disintegrating!
With my morbid fear of flying, the combination of the delays and then the turbulence might have made me do something that would cause the pilot to make an emergency landing…
Great piece. Kind of a twist on “Il faut souffrir…”
Love it. Finally out grew Yelapa and moved on. Where? I’m not telling. But it beats all the others. Shhh, let’s keep it a secret. Like Mendocino.