Mexicanization

Work. There is a myth that Mexicans are lazy. People believe that. We have all heard or told jokes of that nature. At the same time though, we have witnessed the immigrant populations working extremely long hours and very hard. And that is the truth of it.

Yesterday, I just had my first 13 hour day. They have got their little gringo working like a Mexican down here. And for those who embellish those different stereotypes, I am talking about the one where the Mexicans work their culos off. I mean, those are like banking hours. Finally, I appreciate what many of you do on a daily basis. However, the difference is that I enjoy what I am doing, and I get paid far less. I didn’t realize when I came over here that I would become slave labor.

Another myth. We have all seen thirty or forty Latin American immigrants piled in the backs of pickup trucks or sitting five across in a lawn care truck. I had one such experience in a Nissan Platina. Basically, you take a Ford Focus, shrink it, and you get a Nissan Platina.

After a lovely Sunday afternoon of picnicking and floating through canals an hour south of Mexico City, in a place that has been called “the Venice of México,” I along with eight others piled into this tiny, weenie, little clown car. It was filled to the brim, but this was certainly not common practice. After an hour back home, I understood why. Oy. In short, no one does that (except in the states). And for good reason.

Metro. You will have to forgive my fascination with public transportation, and more specifically, the metro. As one would expect, people sell anything and everything you can imagine from CDs to pogs to gum as they walk up and down each train car. But they only are able to sell and function on weekends. This is because the metro in Mexico City in the second most used subway in the world, only behind Tokyo. It is packed and after I think the car can’t possibly fit any more people, we stop at a transfer station to pick up more. Needless to say, I am getting to know the people of Mexico City intimately.

Mustache. Everyone seems to have one. It is an honor to have one. Police, street cleaners, business men, everyone has one and it does not appear to be differentiated by class. Well, everyone except my three main bosses sports one. So, I don’t feel the need to fit in perfectly.

Hair gel. It must be cheap. Based upon the amount that these fellas use a day, I would venture to guess that Wal-Mart must sell the industrial size and strength bucket. Believe it or not, I have contemplated locating and purchasing said gel. I would be more aerodynamic, not to mention, chido (cool) and hip with the locals. Also, the gelled hair serves as a protective device if you were to fall or be hit in the head with something. Only time will tell if I will take that leap into the unknown world of greased back helmet hair.

As you can see, I am becoming Mexican. Food, language, culture, costumes, and dance styles.