Mexico sure is my kind of town.

Mon Feb 13, 12:57 PM by Simon Clopton

Ed. Note: Our good friend Simon resides on the Yucutan peninsula, Mexico heading up a children’s literacy program. Along the course of this very noble cause, he tends to encounter some pretty interesting things. After much persuasion, here is the first of (hopefully!) many installments. Originally titled Bribery, pump-gouging, blind eyes turning and police implications; a Mexican gas strike unfolds. Or, Mexico sure is my kind of town.



“Half a tank of gas, hmm maybe I should fill up.” Coming home from work I noticed exaggeratedly long lines at the two gas stations I passed. Shortages maybe? A quick check of the local paper’s website told me that a gas strike was looming. It was the result of governmental attempts to clean up the local gas industry. Their demand: “install reliable (read: non-rigged) pumps and accept electronic payments.” Not much really, just stop ripping off the customers and hiding money. The state gas syndicate’s response: “fuck you—we’ll strike, and if you don’t travel by horse, sailboat or bicycle, then soon YOU’LL shape up.”

Surely the long lines would die down by say, eleven thirty. I had bought gas just this very afternoon, but didn’t get a full tank because the pumps at my two local stations are rigged and overcharge by about 10 bucks a tank. Checked the old email, ate a salad, took the dogs to the beach and then around 11:15 headed on down to the rigged Pemex just up the road.

Wow that line is long… those people are parked… I wonder if I go
around (nope)...I wonder if the other station (nope)... finally back
at the first gas station I pull into the line being directed by the nice, slightly overweight cops in the threat level IIIB very bullet
proof vests. We had the following conversation, originally in Spanish:

Me: Good evening, can I just pull in right here?

Cop: Sorry, there isn’t any gas. (makes the there is none to be had, or field goal no good gesture with his hands.)

Me: Oh, they’ve already sold out, none left at all huh?

Cop: No, we can’t let anyone else in line, it’s an order. Otherwise
we’d be happy to let you in.

Me: It’s OK, I understand, so there is going to be a strike, huh?

Cop: Yeah, first thing tomorrow morning they’re going on strike.

Me: And then all the stations in the state will be closed, no gas for
sale anywhere?

Cop: Yup, all of them.

Me: How long do you think it’ll last?

Cop: Mmmm, couple of days.

Me: And there’s no way to get in? Thing is, I’ve got to go to Merida tomorrow and I’ve only got a quarter tank… (a quick glance at my gauges for emphasis, which the cop can see, and which clearly read half full.)

Cop: Are you going to drink a coffee?

Now I’m usually pretty quick, but I paused for about half a beat

Me: Uh, yeah.

Cop: ‘Cause if you’re going to drink a coffee we can let you in. We can let him if he’s going to drink a coffee right? (to Other Cop In Charge.)

Other Cop In Charge: If he’s going to drink a coffee, yeah.

Cop: Go ahead pull in.

Me: Thanks.

I pull right into the line no more than 10 feet from the two cops and shut off the engine to wait. Other Cop In Charge wanders over, I see him coming and roll down the drivers side window.

Other Cop In Charge: Everything good?

Me: (fishing in my back pocket for the fold of bills hoping the one on top is small… a 100 peso note, I was hoping for a 50, wrong fold.) Yeah, everything’s great. Thank y’all.

Other Cop In Charge: On the contrary (folding the bill to stick it in
his breast pocket,) my pleasure.

Start go stop off. Start stop go off. Ten minutes later I’ve made it
to the head of the line and am having a nice chat with the woman at the pump about union politics while the tank tops off. Pulling out I throw a quick tip of the hat to the cops who smile, wave, and tell me to valla bien. I never did get that coffee.

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