Lesson #1 From Wonderland: Slow The Fuck Down!

Mexico moves slow.

S-L-O-W

As in suspended animation.

No one is in a hurry.

Get an invitation to a party at 7?

Show up at 10.

No problem.

You're early.

Need something fixed?

“I’ll be there Tuesday.”

But you don’t know which Tuesday.

At the gas station where my chiquitas work, they are renovating an old convenience store.

“How long until it’s open?” I asked the gas man a month ago.

“Two weeks.”

“How long until it’s open?” I asked the gas man yesterday.

“Two weeks.”

“If I ask you next week, ‘how long until it’s open,’ what are you going to say, gas man?”

“Two weeks.”

He smiled.

He knew. That he didn’t know.

Mostly he didn’t care.

Everything is slower here.

I like it that way. Time spreads out. Life becomes a stream of consciousness novel.

You can focus on what you’re doing or going to do, rather than the time someone you don't give a shit about expects you to do it.

Everything is slower.

Everything except driving.

Last week, I was on a two lane road when, no warning, an old ragged beat up piece of shit Ford Fiesta with the no rear window and one hubcap was weaving in and out of traffic like the driver had someplace to go, and needed to get there right the fuck now.

Really? Somebody have an emergency ditch to dig, Paco? I’m sorry that you have to get up in the morning after swilling cheap tequila half the night and go to job you hate with a bad ass hangover and have to drive that rag to get there, but it’s not worth risking your life to get there on time.

And it’s especially not worth risking my life.

Besides, you don’t care if you’re on time anyway, right?

And you, the prick in the new Porsche. You aren’t any better. Flashing your lights like you are fucking ambulance doesn’t make you, well, a fucking ambulance.

If you’re really that rich, you don’t need to be in a hurry. The other mother fucker needs to be in a hurry — to get to you. And, if what you need to communicate is that important, email that shit! You’re not a God-damned carrier pigeon.

If you’ve made the big bucks, act like it.

And if you haven’t, and you are driving like a moron in a ride you can’t afford to impress the tensile-haired bleach blonde riding shotgun, you are a loser. You’re not getting laid anyway.

Net-net: If I’m in the fast lane and not doing the speed limit, my bad. I’m happy to move over.

Otherwise, fuck off. I’m not responsible for your inability to understand the linear nature of time or the ego rush you get when someone moves over to let you by.

I’m not that guy.

You’re not important. To me.

In short, remember you live in Mexico.

Take it slow, like we do everything else here.

You’ll live longer.

We all will.

November 5, 2021

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