Tuesday, September 21, 2004

I was in Cuajinicuilapa on Friday. After conducting our biz, we walked from the center of town to the edge looking for a restaurant where we could eat. See, there are plenty of places where one can buy food, but very few, if any, would meet my standard. I’m very picky.

As we walked, we came across a truck loaded with cows. One had its tail sticking out of the cage. I jokingly said to my cousin, “Go ahead, pull.” figuring that at the very least, the cow would take a dump on his head. I wasn’t even done saying it when my shirt and shorts got some green, damp spots. The cow had chosen me as the recipient of its shit. Great. I was the this-restaurant-ain’t-clean-enough man covered with cow dung.

We kept walking and made it to the restaurant that my uncle thought I wouldn’t mind eating at. Well, it was there the last time he had looked for it. Gone now. From there we chose the closest one we could find. We were four hungry men, and no amount of flies and roaches can keep four hungry men from easing their hunger.

When it was time to place our orders, I asked for picoteadas, also known as picadas, or sopes. The waitress said that she’d have to ask the cook if she’d be willing to make them for me, as they require a bit of extra work. I was satisfied with that. As we enjoyed our Coronas and Yolis, I noticed that fifty feet away stood the waitress and the woman who seemed to be the cook. The cook was giving me a careful look. I thought to myself, “Great, no picoteadas for me.”

The waitress came by our table. “The cook has decided to make the picadas for you. What else would you like to order?” Hehe, I was flattered. Guess I am a mackdaddy, after all. My uncle ordered some tacos dorados and one of my cousins had a huachinango. My other cousin wanted… picoteadas, like me. The waitress looked at him, as if telling him that it was hard enough to get her to make some for me, and now she’d be asked to make twice as many?! The light-bulb in my head turned bright and I pulled a five dollar bill out of my pocket. I said to the waitress, “Give it to the cook. It’s a tip for her.”

Sure enough, the cook didn’t decline my offer. Hehe. My cousin’s Huachinango was brought to him. My uncle accurately observed, “Unos corren la liebre, y otros sin correr la alcanzan,” and laughed out loud. I was the one footing the bill, even bribing the cook, yet the first one to be served was my cousin. Something sure didn’t make sense! My uncle’s tacos dorados came. Things made even less sense, but as I tried to figure out what the hell was happening here, I poked fun at my uncle; “Unos corren la liebre, y otros sin correr la alcanzan.” As he had his first bites he said, “Damn right.” Hehe.

Our picoteadas finally came, and they were brought by the cook herself. In a nervous tone and with a broken spanish she asked, “Who’s the one who sent me the five dollars?” I said it had been me. She turned to me and said, “Thank you. I had been saving money to buy myself new shoes. I really appreciate it.”

The shoes (she used the word huaraches, actually) would cost this Native American woman about 65 pesos. With the five bucks I gave her she was 55 pesos closer to the mark. Of course she was thankful. And you know something… as big a cheapskate that I am, I can say that those were some well spent five bucks.

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