Heather in Paradise

Living here means that occasionally you encounter the phenomenon of what we expatriates call a “Mexican Day.” Usually we realize we’ve had one of these days when we have to submit papers to a government office, or when we’ve had to visit the post office, doctor’s office, or the grocery store.

One thing that used to be strange to me about living here is how much time is wasted waiting in line. The Mexican mail service is notoriously horrible, so terrible, in fact, that we never get mail of any kind, including bills. When you sign up for a service, be it phone, electric, or cable, you make a note of the due date, then when that bill is due, you prepare your cash, and go stand in line at the phone, electric or cable company in order to remit your payment. Sometimes an employee hired by the phone, electric or cable company will come to the house and put the bill in your fence, or wedge it in your door frame, or whatever, but often these employees don’t know the streets and quite frequently you’ll get the wrong bill, if any bill at all. The bottom line is that if you need to pay a bill, you must physically show up and wait in line to pay it. Since everyone’s bills are all due at the same time, the lines are never manageable.

So you think you can subvert the system by paying in advance, or double paying a bill? Let me tell you why that isn’t such a good idea: 1. Often the teller won’t allow it. She’s been taught to enter one month, just the one that is due, and there is no training to allow for advance payment. So come back next month, pendejo. 2. You don’t have the money to pay in advance. You work here, which means like everyone else you live hand to mouth and you rob Pedro to pay Paulo. 3. If you pay in advance, something virtually no one does, you’ll find that next month they will STILL shut you off as if you didn’t pay. Because records? They don’t mean much here. And if that unskilled teller did not enter your second payment in the proper way, there is no record of your advance payment. When protesting, even with a receipt, you’ll most likely get the dreaded Blank Look Of Death. Which means you’ll pay again, or get shut off. And so you grit your teeth. And pay again. And vow never, NEVER to pay more than what is currently due, EVER again.

The grocery store opens up an entire world of differences between US and Mexican culture. In Mexico, it is truly every man for himself…you have only to read a brief history of the first 100 years or so of their occupation by the Spanish to understand at least part of where it comes from. People take up multiple parking spaces, leave their carts wherever they want in the lot, even if they’re blocking a legitimate space. Inside the store, they will stand impassively on escalators, refusing to move out of your way. Carts, families, or big groups of friends block aisles without even a passing thought that another person might need to pass. At the deli counter, unless you are willing to elbow or yell, you’ll be getting no ham today. People are poor and certain fruits/vegetables are expensive, so don’t ever expect to find a carton of strawberries or a bag of grapes that are not already picked over and eaten. There never seem to be enough cashiers at the grocery store, so checkout lines are always quite long. I feel very fortunate to not be someone for whom patience is a problem, so waiting in line rarely bothers me. I spend my time eyeballing babies, making faces at them or clowning to make them laugh. But, but…one thing really irks me and that is the lack of respect for personal space. When waiting in line at the grocery store, I leave a space in between myself and the person ahead of me, so that others walking through the store can pass. This concept seems to be wasted here, as often people will try to “cut” into the space I’ve made, or the person behind me will ram their cart into me in an effort to prod me to fill the space (even though, HELLO! I can’t go any farther!).

One thing I’ve learned about living here: if you see something you’ve wanted or missed, something perhaps slightly unusual, like lemons or chocolate chips, BUY IT NOW. You may never see it again. Inventory, consumer stock…these are not major issues. My boss Anna once told me the story about how she was in the grocery store and was looking for “Item X,” which was not an exotic food item, but one that was required for one of her favorite meals. She had returned to a grocery store where she’d once found the item, but was not able to find it again. She asked a man she found restocking an aisle, “Excuse me, I’m looking for ‘Item X,’ it was here last week.” He replied, “Oh, that? I’ve decided not to stock that anymore, it disappears from the shelves too quickly and it’s too much work to keep it stocked.”

I don’t really blame anyone here for the lack of enthusiasm for their work. Which one of us would care about our jobs if we made less than 3 dollars per hour? Even at my pathetic salary, which is less than one quarter of what I made when I lived in the US, I still out-earn most of the people I live near.

Playa del Carmen is a fast-growing town in the middle of a huge construction boom, with hundreds of very poor young men from surrounding states flocking here for work. They live on their respective construction sites under conditions too desperate to be believed. I often see them on their paydays, grayish-white from limestone dust, standing for hours in the store’s aisles, in the beautiful air-conditioning, marveling at things they have probably never seen, and which they will probably never be able to buy. Paydays here typically occur on the 1st and the 15th of each month (quincena, and that is also when I get paid). The 1st and the 15th are the absolute WORST days to find yourself at the grocery store, but again, since I get paid at the same time as everyone else, there is nothing for it sometimes but to be at the grocery store at these horrid times.

On my last quincena, September 15, I went shopping. On my list were the “necessities” of our lives, namely: booze. In the wine aisle, I noticed two men in dirty workmen’s construction clothes, very closely inspecting the various bottles of wine. While I often see these men closely inspecting the prices of cans of beans or chiles, it’s not often I will run into them at the wine aisle. As I was looking over the “cheap, but not cheapest” bottles of white, one of the men timidly asked, “Señora, this price, is it the one for this bottle?” I looked where he was pointing and saw a half-bottle of very expensive white wine, misshelved under a price tag of 38 pesos (or about 3.50 usd). I read aloud the name on the shelf label and compared it to the label on the bottle and said, “No, this is not for this bottle, it’s for the Palermo.” I realized with his blank look that he could not read well and a wave of compassion washed over me. I did not pry, but it seemed to me he had to purchase some wine as a gift, but because of his lack of funds, had to purchase the least expensive wine available and wanted, of course, to get the best value for his peso. On the bottom shelf, I spied the liter boxes of California white, wine that is perfectly passable and cheap (though it does give wicked headaches). This costs 22 pesos per liter and when I first moved here, was the only wine I could afford to drink. I pointed it out to him and explained that although it was in a box, it was just as good as the wine in the bottle, and would only cost 22 pesos. He still stood there for a moment contemplating the pros and cons of his purchase. I realized then and there that I could NOT bring myself to buy a bottle of wine after I’d said what I said, so I grabbed 2 liters of the boxed white and put it in my cart. If it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me, damn it.

As I was in line waiting to check out, the man and his friend walked past me, each carrying a box of the cheap wine. They nodded at me as they passed.