Meat Pie and the FederaleSep 09 '02 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line Rule #1 of traveling: Don't fuck with the locals. It was the last trip to the Baja either Meat Pie or I have made, while also being the first for the Lady Monkey. We had cracked into the eighteenth day of what was a twenty-three day journey along the entire peninsula, having spent the previous night camped at Bahia los Muertos, just north of San Jose, seeing all the property for sale around the entire East Cape. Although the trip had already provided its fair share of moments and tales (including an extremely rare visit to the hospital in Santa Rosalia on account of the Lady Monkey's meeting with a stingray), there were still a couple more incidents to be had before we returned to El Norte. That morning's tour of San Jose and San Lucas was depressing. The two towns had become little more than a hateful hybrid of Tijuana and Las Vegas: narrow, dirty streets filled with ugly whores and greedy vendors with reptilian smiles peddling cheap trinkets in front of neon-lit nightclubs and burger barns, while American tourists from Texas and Georgia sauntered up and down, pricing back-alley blowjobs and sombreros embroidered with tequila brand names. It was the revenge of Horatio Alger's evil twin from beyond the grave, and the two hours we spent tooling through that nightmare was more than sufficient to fundamentally shock our systems. We needed to get out of there as soon as possible. We made a hasty plan to head up the west coast of the cape, to Todos Santos, and then through to La Paz, where we would find a shady spot on the outskirts of town to spend the night and gather our senses. The drive along the coast was an immediate tonic to the horror of the cape. With every passing mile the stench of Cabo dissipated, and my sphincter incrementally unclenched. We eventually arrived in Todos Santos, and pulled over to talk about whether we should eat there, or wait until we reached La Paz, some 50 miles away. It was still early in the afternoon and Todos Santos didn’t seem to hold any interest for us in terms of sightseeing, so we decided to continue on to La Paz, where we could sit down in a restaurant and enjoy a meal before we made camp. We climbed back in our cars, and started along the main road toward Mex 1. Now, Todos Santos is actually a somewhat large town, at least by Baja standards. Large enough to warrant something conspicuously absent throughout most of the peninsula, anyway: traffic lights. The problem was that we had done so much driving without the inconvenience of traffic lights, that suddenly having them present didn't register. So it was that, while following Meat Pie, I saw his grey Toyota pickup with the white Brahma shell casually coast through an intersection against a red light. A few seconds afterward I saw a white federale pickup make a right-turn onto a side street just before that intersection. I turned to the Lady Monkey and told her that Meat Pie was incredibly lucky that the cop didn’t see him. The light then turned green, and I drove through the intersection and followed the road along a soft right curve, only to come upon the same white federale pickup parked behind Meat Pie's grey Toyota pickup with the white Brahma shell, with Meat Pie and the cop standing beside the trucks talking. I pulled in behind the cop, told the Lady Monkey, who was becoming very nervous, to hang tight, and got out of our truck. As I walked toward them, I believed that Meat Pie was involved in negotiating the "fine" and wondered how much money we had for the requisite bribe. After all, this was Mexico, and interactions with the police (or any other government official) inevitably involved money. The only question was how much. Answering that question involved a very precise dance, and Meat Pie with all his experience traveling through the country must know it. The dance starts as soon as a federale decides to stop you for any reason. The most important rule is to not question anything the officer says. If he claims you just ran over a busload full of crippled, blind kids on their way to clean a church, you simply apologize. Keeping the officer happy is the idea, because a happy federale is much less likely to want to put you in jail than an angry federale. Once you’ve heard what heinous crime against the sovereign state of Mexico you've committed, you must offer full repentance, including an apology for being such an arrogant gringo, and beg the officer for his (and the nation's) forgiveness. Of course, the officer is willing to forgive you, and would like nothing more than to accept your apology in the name of good international relations and let you go, but unfortunately, as he strictly follows procedure to the letter, his hands are tied since he has already radioed the offence in to headquarters, and can’t simply let you go. Now you have to truly be delicate because the timing of this maneuver is crucial, and can make or break the entire gambit. You must again plead the cultural insensitivity and ignorance of the ugly American while apologizing profusely for the transgression, and praising the officer for his beneficence. You sympathize with the poor federale's dilemma of wanting to let you go but being unable to, as he has already informed his superiors of the event, what with him being an honest and judicious man, and all. After again praising both him and his country, you make your move by asking, in the most innocent manner possible, if there is any way you can pay the fine there, rather than having to go to the police station to deal with the paperwork, etc. The officer, pleased that you are so understanding of his plight, will then usually figure out some sort of mutually agreeable conclusion to the entire unfortunate incident involving the transfer of a hundred or two dollars, after which time he will bid you farewell. Confident that Meat Pie was well into the dance, I was stunned to hear him say aloud, "I didn’t run any red light!" That treacherous bastard was actually arguing. Not only that, he was wrong. The officer, seeing me come up from behind, had apparently had enough, and told Meat Pie and me to follow him to the police station. I couldn't believe what was happening. What the hell was Meat Pie thinking? Why in the name of god would he be stupid enough to argue with a freaking federale nearly 1,000 miles from the border? He was lucky that there was a cop around at that time, because I was tempted to soak that swine with mace and kick him in the ribs till he had the consistency of jelly. Instead, I turned and got back into my car. I drove on in a fog, following the white pickup through the tangle of dirt roads of Todos Santos until we arrived at a squat white building. After we parked I grabbed my wallet, asked the Lady Monkey for all the cash she could spare, and got out. Although I had done nothing wrong, I had been implicated in Meat Pie's offense by gringo association, but I certainly wasn’t going to suffer any consequences because of it. If push came to shove, I would sell that geek out in a heartbeat. After all, there was no sense the both of us having to be incarcerated. If his stupidity was going to result in jail, I would have to be free to get in touch with folks back in the US to get him out. Besides, I wasn't the one who was dumb enough to argue with the federale. As Meat Pie got out of his car he was immediately swarmed by a pack of Todos Santos street urchins who seemed to appear out of nowhere. They all had their hands out, and were asking for spare change, or candy, or puppets, or something. They apparently had not seen me, because I was left alone, so I hastily walked to the station door. Meat Pie kept pushing them away, telling them he wasn't going to give them anything, and as he got near the station door, the children began to scatter. We entered the police station to find a huge cop sitting at a desk behind a counter. I mean this boy was big with a capital "O" and looked as if he could stomp us into dust without even breaking a sweat. The arresting federale who stopped Meat Pie went to the big boy and began talking to him. Unfortunately he spoke espanish both very fast and very softly, so I couldn't really make out what they were saying, only picking up a few words here and there. I asked Meat Pie if he could make anything out, but he wasn't able to either. Finally, big boy began typing, and the first federale came to the counter and told us the fine: 800 Pesos. We did some quick math and figured out that it would be about $75. I couldn’t believe our luck. Meat Pie had actually been stopped by an honest policeman! He had to be, because if he were looking for a bribe, he would have set the fine at closer to $500 – especially since he now had to cover his partner in the police station. I silently gave thanks to the fates, and began to relax, when out of nowhere a chill ran down my spine. That stupid sack of shit, Meat Pie, looked at the officer, and asked to see proof that the fine was 800 Pesos. What the hell was going on? Was he trying to fulfill some perverse fantasy of spending a month in a Mexican jail? I looked at the federale with my jaw completely slack, and he looked at me with an expression of complete disbelief mixed with considerable annoyance, as if he was thinking, "how big must this guy’s balls be to ask that kind of question?" But, he turned, went over to big boy, briefly said something, then came back with a xeroxed sheet of paper which had a list of violations and their respective fines. Sure enough, in that spotty print resulting from making copies of copies of copies on an old machine that had been neither cleaned nor serviced in 20 years, it clearly read: El cruce contra el luz roja ... $800 (speeding, 800 Pesos). There were also a few other violations including La velocidad excessive ... $1000 (speeding, 1000 Pesos) and Manejar descuidado ... $1500 (reckless driving, 1500 Pesos). The cop was legit, and we really had no choice but to pay, even though Meat Pie was still protesting his innocence. Thinking that it was amazing to dodge two bullets from the same gun, I was eager to leave (especially seeing as how we had gotten off so cheaply), when Meat Pie went for the trifecta. He asked the federale where the fine would go. Growing tired of the assaults on his character (whether intentional or not), the federale tersely remarked that all money collected was sent to La Paz, and used for road repair, as well as other administrative expenses. It was Meat Pie's next move that I thought may have used up our luck. As we were leaving, almost as an afterthought, Meat Pie turned to the federale and asked if he could get a receipt. The two officers looked at each other in amazement, and with expressions of wanting to finally get rid of us annoying gringos, the huge cop hastily typed out a receipt for Meat Pie's fine. Then it was my turn to annoy the officers. Seeing as how the danger had passed, I thought this would make an excellent Kodak moment, and so I asked the two federales if it would be okay to take their picture with Meat Pie. Evidently this was the very last straw, and they not only refused, they told us in no uncertain terms to get the hell out of there. We left the police station, got into our trucks, and headed off toward the highway leading to La Paz. As we drove, I noticed something odd about the rear window of Meat Pie's white Brahma shell. Evidently, the street urchins weren't too pleased with Meat Pies refusal to give them a bit of change, because in the dust they scrawled "$$Dolares$$" putting a fitting end to out visit to Todos Santos. This is a true story ©Fez Monkey 2002  |
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