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9 August 2005 

Terribly Tardy Tactless Tijuana Tripe

Alright, alright. I have a story to tell about a mini-adventure to Mexico. It has been one month since this actually happened, I just haven't finished this entry up until now. Deal with it; I am a slacker. I have also always wanted to fuck with the date and time on this thing. That sort of freedom and implied trust really draws me in.

I am a tad worried, because although I consider myself a good story-teller, this tale happens to feature an almost indescribable human being. Maybe Chris has the right idea, exclaiming "I want to crush this guy's head!" Perhaps Brittany put it best: "That guy was such a douche."

Let me give it a shot... I figure that you could imagine that feeling you get when a mosquito is flying around your damn ear, then multiply that feeling by 20. Then add the feeling of having your eyeball pushed into the socket (go ahead and try; gently now) far enough that it just barely doesn't pop. Imagine a guy who can make you feel like that for hours on end. This guy is gay, but trying really hard to cover it up for no reason. Visualize him having an ugly face; maybe a bit like a gay-male-Mexican Cher who has been clocked in the face with a tire iron. Twice. If you are more aural, he sounds a lot like a stuffy Ben Stein trying to imitate a gay guy. He will henceforth be referred to as 'tool', or some variation thereof. God, I hope he somehow reads this.

With this important description out of the way, let me start in on the evening and its players. Brittany, Chris, Erik, Nick and I headed down to the border, and Erik drove the car back up to San Diego. The rest of us went into TJ and found a place to get a drink. Against my better judgement we ordered without asking the prices, and we ended up with drinks more expensive than one could find in Vancouver. A guy came and started pouring tequila into my rum and coke, even though I was informing him in fairly good Spanish that I hate tequila, won't pay him, and don't find him amusing in the least. After demanding payment and then lowering the price since it was a rum and coke he realised that his effort was in vain and took his watered-down tequila elsewhere.

We headed to another club that had cheaper drinks and had another round. We were waiting to meet up with some of Brittany's friends from work. They finally showed up in a Mitsubishi Eclipse or some such car. This little ride already had three people inside, namely some girl, some nice guy, and that fucking tool I described earlier. The rest of us squeezed in (read: seven people in car). We took off, destined for a club on the other side of town, rounded a corner, and promptly got pulled over by La Policia.

This was no big deal, as they just wanted bribe money and both of the guys we met up with spoke Spanish fluently, so I wanted to get out of there. I voted we leave the guys behind and take a taxi, and after a tad of delay that is exactly what we did. They arrived at the 'Baby Rock' club just after us, which was good news because Nick and I were out of cash. The cover was steep, but drinks were free. Actually, it was pretty cheap because someone else paid for me and I left the next morning. Ah well, what goes around comes around.

This club was actually pretty fantastic and we all got sloshed (especially Chris, but we were all right up there with him). I decided to spend most of the night talking to this girl we had met up with, for some reason. If I had paid my cover I might have been more interested in dancing up on the platforms with the nearly-naked chicas.

Our conversation was wide-ranging and even moderately interesting at times, although she wasn't the most worldly or deep woman I've met. The funny thing is that the fucking tool-ass Cher impersonator kept trying to 'cockblock' me, so to speak. We all knew he was gay, but he was trying to cut in anyway. Let me assure you, his behaviour was unacceptable regardless of his sexual preference. A classic quote from the girl I was flirting with was, "I thought he was gay, I wouldn't have invited him if I knew he would do this." Once again, god I hope he reads this. Anyway, the time eventually came to head home and we stumbled out of the club.

As I mentioned before, Nick and I were dead out of cash. Everyone but Nick, the girl and I were loaded into the car, and the tool fucker was trying to get the girl to get in. As she was going to pay the cab fare to la frontera, I convinced her to ditch the sleazy shithead. On the way to the cab and throughout the cab ride she managed to completely ruin any interest I had in her by repeatedly asserting her lack of cultural understanding and general empathy for others, but that's another story. It was all about the money at this point; I wanted to get back to the U.S. without sleeping in a Mexican ditch. She paid up and we got out at the border. Whoever said I'm a nice guy who has never taken advantage of anyone was dead wrong. I hope no one who is romantically interested in me reads this blog.

This is the best part. If you were skimming, stop and read the next few paragraphs. We were waiting around at the border for a few minutes before the other crew showed up. Now, what should have happened it that Brittany and Chris would get out of the car and then it would drive off with the two guys inside. Erik was going to meet us back Stateside. Instead what happened is that Brittany, Chris, and the biggest tool I've met since 1998 got out. The car drove off. I was quick to let toolass know that he didn't have a ride home, but he followed us on our walk across the border. He began to lay the game on the girl again, distastefully. It was obvious that she was not enjoying his advances, and it became a matter of pride for me to keep him subdued.

Good news is, I shared this job with the TJ Policia, who soon made a second appearance. They saw a Mexican guy (this tool grew up in Tijuana) grabbing a white girl, who was in turn clutching a white guy. Too bad for the tool joker, because the the TJ Policia don't appreciate American college students being accosted by derelict locals, and this is what our situation looked like.

Five cops ran up. One politely asked me to put my hands on the wall, one stood back and watched, and the other three laid into that deserving tool with a vengeance. I calmly explained in Spanish to my understanding officer that I had no weapons and I was just trying to get back to the States: I offered to show him my ID, which was in my shoe. He was not interested in touching it, but he told me I could be on my way. I grabbed the girl and took off, leaving my officer-amigo to join the fray. When I glanced back the tool was on the ground.

Now, I am not sure what he told the cops, but he caught up to the rest of us earlier than expected (I had hoped he would wake up in a sewage runoff ditch with blood on his clothes). He started in again, full force. Had the humiliations he had endured thus far not been enough? Apparently not, because he was soon telling this girl how much better looking than I he was, quite possibly the dumbest thing I have ever heard said by any human besides George W. Bush. I was already pissed at him, and this didn't help.

As we waited for Erik he kept trying to convince the girl that we had no ride and she should join him in a taxi. Erik arrived just about that time, and we made to leave (and made to leave this tool behind). He was begging, pleading with us to let him come. I told him there was no room in the car so he jumped past me into the car and began to lay a whiny assault on poor Erik, who we just woken up to get us. That was the end of my rope and I grabbed him by the scrawny neck and dragged his ass out of the car. I haven't been that close to beating the shit out of some chump since grade 8, and it was lucky for me that Nick convinced me to keep my cool.

I decided to be a gentleman in spite of everything and let this tool ride home in the trunk of the car. This is not a large trunk, and apparently the kindness I was showing in not kicking his ass and instead allowing him a ride was lost on him. He began to issue demands, which I am fairly sure he was in no position to do. He wanted the seat cracked open so he could breathe, but there were three people in the back seat. I've seen movies, I knew he wouldn't suffocate. Plus I didn't care if he did suffocate, so I shoved him in the trunk and slammed it shut.

We were cruising down the freeway when he started to make a ruckus. He was crying out, screaming like a baby, and demanding the seat be cracked open. Since Chris is also far too nice in this type of situation, the request was obliged. The tool showed his gratitude by fondling Chris' arm for the rest of the ride. About halfway back to San Diego our trunk-bound tool suddenly decided he wanted out, and once again we obliged, this time happily. We dropped him on some random off ramp that we later found was two miles from his intended destination. Must have been the most humiliating night of his life.

The rest of us ended up safely at home after dropping off the confused girl. After making fun of Chris for being so drunk I began to make some Kraft Dinner for Nick and myself. I made a large batch, but by the time it was finished Nick was unconscious, and I'm not sure he would have eaten it anyway. I devoured it all myself, drank a litre of water, and enjoyed a satisfying sleep; the kind of sleep that only comes after completely humiliating someone who really deserves it.


About Me


  • I'm Tristan.

    These days you can find me in Coyle, Washington, United States.

    But probably not for long.

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