Three Times A Day

Certain things we are told growing up to do three times a day, I completely agree with.  As a grown up, some of the things I encounter on a daily regime, I am not too sure about.  There is an alleyway near where we live which is used for a myriad of things.  As one can easily imagine, it is layered in graffiti, filled with trash and broken glass, with its most basic use is for people going to and fro, amidst the typical filth and debris you come to expect living in Mexico City.  We use the alley daily, as a means for quick access to the next neighborhood. 

Likewise, in our constant usage, we have become familiar with others who use this alleyway on a daily basis-albeit, or their own very personal reasons.  Three characters are a given, each doing his thing, at least once a day, everyday.  The trash man, the pooper and the doper.

It is customary here to pay for everything.  Living may be seen as cheap, but when you realize how you get nickled and dimed to death, you come to realize that what you save in some areas, you spend in the most stupidest ways paying people off…like the trash man.  The trash man gets paid by the city, but ironically enough, he won’t pick up your trash if you don’t pay him too.  At first, it may not seem so obvious, but if you do not put change in his hand, you will not see your trash disappear.  Our trash man is not exception.

Initially he seemed very friendly and talkative.  He would ring the bell and ask if we had any trash to take.  He would also ring the bell and ask for his ‘tip’.  If we happened to be changeless at the time, he would smile and walk away and leave our trash until he got his tip.  Fair enough.  We would sit on our trash until we felt like giving him his tip.  When the change flows, the trash goes.

One day I stepped out with the dogs and saw the trash man walking into the alley.  I stood and watched, telling myself that he was not really going to do what I thought he would.  He was picking up the trash, taking it into the alley, ripping the bags open and dumping the trash.  Depending on what kind of trash it was, he may even start a fire in the alley to burn it off. Now I am not a Mexican, and I do not have the ‘anything goes, manana, manana’ attitude, so I found this intolerable.  I was so mad and in a state of disbelief to think this chump is taking peoples trash and just basically dumping it behind their homes, then stands smiling with his hands outstretched, asking for a tip.  It re-enforced the notion I was already building of the people here; as a rule, they are very clean…they just throw their trash and debris anywhere else but in their yard or home.  The trash man is a perfect example.  I tell Tonya what I just witnessed and she can’t believe it.  A few days later, she gets her own chance to see him lugging bags into the alley, and dumping the contents into a huge heap.  As the bits of trash were falling out, the decision was made that from this instant, no more change would ever transfer from our hands to his. 

Now, we just wait to hear the daily ringing of the bell that tells the street that the roving trash truck is here. Yes-we still have to tip too.

As with any secluded space, some prefer to use it for nefarious activities, such as drinking and smoking dope.  Just the other day, the cops were swarming on the street, man handling some young kid who was casually slopping around in a haze from his recently finished smoke-out in the alley.  Though, not a daily occurrence, it is multiple times a week that we walk through a haze of pot smoke as we travel through the alley.  After a few passes at a certain time of day, we began to recognize a familiar face; The Doper.

The doper works nearby and everyday at break time, he goes to the alley to do more than snack.  He is easy to spot…but usually you can smell his presence before seeing him.  He sits on an old log and smokes his dope. Everyday it’s the same.  For him, it is like he is wearing a uniform.  He wears a red ski-vest and a white visor cap, and big giant sunglasses to hide his eyes. He is a dark guy, very dark.  He has no front teeth, on the top or bottom.  He’s young-ish, and medium build.  He has a very deep voice, and usually slurs his words when he speaks.    

At first, he would sit very still (in a cloud of smoke) and did not move as we approached.  It was like he thought by being completely still, we would not recognize the smell, the smoke, or even him sitting on the old log.  After several chance meetings, we exchanged the ever-so slight nod to one another.  Knowing that I had gained his confidence, I would then pass by and wave, or does a combo nod-cum-salute type gesture.  One day, I started to point at him and move my thumb, like the dad making the ol’ pistol move.  I hesitated.  My own paranoia caused me to think, ‘What if he is linked to the cartels, and me doing this simple gesture he takes great offense to and sees it as a death threat?’  So, with hand outstretched and fingers ready to be cocked, I just made an awkward, arthritic move, and decided to pull back on the gunslinger greeting.  We see each other so much now, that we actually exchange verbal greetings.  I suppose, when he doesn’t want a ‘buzz kill’ he just nods and doesn’t spoil the moment.  I know everything is ok, when his dark face cracks a grin, and the white teeth blatantly point out what is missing, as he smiles and growls his greetings.  Once in a great while, the doper even attempts to raise his hand to acknowledge us.

Bums like dark, private places too.  Our most common friend in the alley is the old crazy guy.  Neighbors say that this old fella has been using this alley as his hangout for years.  He used to have another bum who he’d bum around with, but his buddy passed away and left him desolate and shattered.  I have no idea what his name is, but just call him ‘pasale’ because that is what he utters countless times as you walk by. (Pasale is a friendly way to tell someone that it is ok to pass).  I call him ‘Pasale’, but in truth, he is the pooper.

Pasale is a regular fixture in this area.  He’s lost his mind, and wonders the streets in his ill fitting clothes, a worn and frayed jacket, several times too big for him, and an old dirty straw hat with holes in it.  Some days, when he is ‘dressed up’, he buttons what buttons are left on the jacket.  Pasale is usually found in the alley with a handmade broom, cobbled together from trash, and sweeping the dirt path in the alley way.  I am not really sure what it accomplishes.  It just seems he clears the path, and pushes all the trash the trash man has dumped form side to side.  You can see when Pasale really cleans though, because the berms of trash are noticeably higher.  Every time we pass, he mumbles incoherently, steps aside, bobs his head up and down and says, “pasale, pasale, pasale”.

Sometimes Pasale is seen with a huge bag of trash, he goes down the pathway and fills the bag.  I have no idea what he does with it…but have noticed large trash bags filled to the brim, piled nicely on the already mounting mounds of trash.  Personally, I think this is what Pasale does to keep busy. He tends to the trashy alleyway.

The downside is, all this time cleaning and moving trash from one side of the path to the other, one has no time to find a restroom.  Pasale likes to clean up, but he also has no problem of dropping his pants and leaving big piles of poop there too.  One day, while walking the dogs, Tonya and I both reeled in horror at the site of a very human looking pile of messy poop. We looked at one another and asked the same question, “Is that from a person?’.  The more we passed through, we began to notice these piles here and there.  One day, Pasale had been seen walking away and as we walked down the alley, the smell of fresh poop was very near a fresh pile.  We could only assume…

I mentioned Pasale to the neighbor across the street.  He filled me in on the history of Pasale, and how everyone knows him.  He also added that it is Pasale who does his poops in the alley. “Oh yeah, it is him.  One day I walked out of the house on my way to school.  I turned to walk down the alley, and as I looked up, I saw him squatting with his pants around his ankles.  There is no doubt about what he was doing, but I didn’t actually see the process.  I turned immediately and walked the other way…”  My neighbor’s comments made it painfully obvious. Pasale was no longer the suspected pooper, he is the pooper.  Things must be going good for him though, as the other day we noticed a fresh pile, complete with a bit of used toilet paper.  I suppose we should be happy he is using better hygiene now.

While sitting in traffic a week or so ago, Tonya and I spotted Pasale walking down the street.  We sat at the red light, and as he got closer, he crossed in front of us.  As he neared the car, he recognized me.  He took his ratty hat off, smiled and issued a bonus greeting as he waved, “Buenos Dias!”.  He was excited.  I smiled back and waved.  I then realized that everyone standing at this intersection was witnessing the exchange between the guero and the pooper. Tonya laughed, she commented on how excited Pasale was.  “I can’t believe he noticed you in the car!  Wow, you made his day.  You have a new friend now…I think it is sweet”, she said while smiling.  We smiled at Pasale as he wobbled down the road on his way to who knows where.

No doubt, it is quite amusing of the acquaintances you can make here in this city, just from going about your daily routines.