Driving in Mexico Part II

How a bus made my car look Mexican

A couple of Saturdays ago I picked up a couple of my basketball players to work on individual skills at the court on the Malecon. I always park on the interior side of the court to avoid all the traffic that takes in the scenic route of ocean, roller bladers, joggers, and walkers. Where I park bus traffic is the 6 peso variety. No new air conditioned tourist 9 peso buses cruise through this part of Mazatlan. I find it amusing to watch some of the weird looks I receive as I instruct players through the drills. A shoe shop across the street usually has a few plastic chairs outside that at this hour are still in the shade. Guys hang out and watch a Viejo gringo showing teenagers how to shoot, dribble, and use their feet more efficiently.
As I worked with a couple of players a couple of weeks, one of the guys from the shoe store interrupted me with, “Is that green car yours?”
I have learned that when someone asks you a question about your car that has 230,000 miles on it, it isn’t because he’s interested in knowing more about it in case he wishes to purchase it. So with a degree of foreboding, I acknowledged that yes it is mine. He beckoned me over to it. I looked. It looked fine from my angle. He led me around to the driver’s side door. It no longer looked so fine.
Something had creased the door and knocked off my side view mirror. Two wires that had enabled me to alter my rear view vision hung out of the side where the mirror once resided. I couldn’t help myself, but think, “Now my car looks like it’s a Mexican owned car.”
Shoe store guy introduced me to a bus driver. That would be the driver of the something that made my gringo car a Mexican one. Bus driver did not speak English. One of my players is bilingual, and I eventually learned that bus driver had contacted his office and a representative would soon arrive. No one who has spent time in Mexico thinks that soon exists in this country. During the hour and a half we waited I made sure that I expressed my gratitude to the driver for stopping. I would never have known if he hadn’t. After telling my bus knocked off my mirror story, I talked to no one gringo or national who wasn’t amazed that the bus driver had actually stopped.
. A gentleman from the bus company did eventually arrive on a motorcycle. This just shows you that bus companies know how to get through traffic. By then I had retrieved my mirror (who gets the seven years bad luck? Bus driver or me?). Time will tell. I stuffed it with the two basketballs into my trunk. Some keepsake huh?
Bus representative did not speak ingles either. He did hand me the phone to speak to someone who did. She informed me that she knew that having an accident in a foreign country could be very stressful, but that the bus company would take care of everything. She further explained that I should follow motorcycle guy to a part store. Then I should follow him to a body shop. The bus company would take care of everything. She said the take care of everything several more times. I thanked her. My players jumped into my car and off we followed. As I drove and the boys chatted amiably in the back seat, I wondered about the lack of a police report. Obviously, the bus company wanted no part of their involvement. Hmmmm. At the part store I learned that they would order the mirror. I must add here that following a guy on a motorcycle in a Mexican city’s traffic is no easy endeavor. I endured. At the body shop I secured a Wednesday appointment for them to do the body work, replace the mirror, and paint the new parts. I took the boys home and shared my news with a skeptical wife.

* * *

I drove the car into the body shop on Thursday (yes we are talking aboutmanana) morning. They told me I could pick it up on Saturday afternoon at 3. I had tickets to the Venados second game of the best of seven series for the national championship and the right to represent Mexico in the Latin American championships in Venezuela. The game started at 6. What were the odds? The odds favored a taxi ride to the game.
I arrived Saturday at 2:30. The banged in door….fixed. The scraped door and wheel well panel….painted. The mirror and the wires….no where to be seen. Being bilingual is not a prerequisite to work for an auto body shop in the States on in Mexico. Between my espanol and body shop guy’s ingles, I figured that they had no mirror. The absence of it helped. He gave me numbers to phone. No one answered. He gave me my key to the car. I drove off. I arrived to an increasingly skeptical wife. She asked me rhetorical questions like, “What did you think was going to happen?” And others, but my anti auditory skills kicked in.

* * *

On Monday I started to make phone calls. I eventually talked Daniela, who works in the office downstairs, to call. Over several days I learned that they couldn’t find the missing part in Mexico. No one drives or has killed 1998 Toyota Avalons in Mexico. I phoned my mechanic in Corvallis. I know this man well as I have put five of his daughters through private school during the past twenty-five years. He found a mirror for $225 dollars not pesos. I asked Daniela to convey this to the bus representative and the body shop mechanic. She informed me that when she mentioned the price both of them became momentarily speechless. Mucho dinero. They would look again.
I waited a couple more days, and then phoned again. No mirror surfaced. I then called my insurance agent, Juan Chong. Yes, I have a Chinese-Mexican insurance agent. He doesn’t even have a Chinese accent (probably due to being a fourth generation Mexican). I told Juan my story. He asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted my mirror, which my Corvallis mechanic could buy, I would pay him, a friend would bring it down in March, and body shop guy could install and paint it. He said no problema. He called me back. The bus representative agreed. My wife remains a skeptic. We shall see manana.

Side note. Driving in Mexican city traffic without a rear view mirror ain’t for the faint of heart. You know when playing a video game and you master one level and then attack the next level. Well, I just hit the second level button.