My tendency to look at others and size them up according to
the simplest things is something I need to work on. As much as we should not pre-judge, we all do it anyway. If someone
has on the wrong shoes, the wrong haircut, a stain on their shirt or whatever
it may be – they are immediately categorized and filed into whatever
compartment our little minds choose.
Such was my assumption with that
guy.
I had no idea who this guy was, only I had seen him around
town and something about him seemed odd.
The way he walked and his footwear was what first got my attention. This guy is a gringo. He walks very stout, with his chest puffed out
and arms swaying sluggishly at his side.
That alone is no crime, but no one can take a bad-ass seriously when gazing
at his feet you see he is wearing cheap flip flops. Who wears flip-flops on a daily basis on
rough streets like these? Perhaps he
takes the ‘easy livin’ creed a bit too serious.
Recognizing that walk, and the stiff puffy posture, I had
been able to start spotting this guy all around town. Once on my radar, I began to notice the rest
of his attire. Camouflage knee length
shorts. This is another faux-pas
here. We are not hiding in a jungle, and
to the best of my knowledge there is no urban warfare going on. Anyway, those shorts are null and void when
paired with flip-flops. No one is ready
for full on ass kicking wearing flip-flops and knee length shorts. Wait-there is more, the Rambo style headband
he always has on too. To me, he gives us
gringos a bad name. He looks like he’s
lost and somewhat of a clown. Mind you,
I have not even gotten to the big, biker sized sideburns he sports…
I see him in the ice cream shop, outside on the street
talking to girls, walking ever so proudly through the main square. That
guy is everywhere!
It was only by chance that I actually found out about that guy while sitting at our neighbor’s
house. Her daughter was spilling the
beans on a resident New York
hipster who was thrilled to be at a naked acid party when she referenced this
weird guy who hits on every girl he sees.
More to the point, she had just been hanging out with this weird guy a
few nights before and after he was striking out with every single girl that
crossed his path, he turned and hit on her.
She asked why he would do such a thing, and he simply replied that it
was a game of odds. If he asks 100
girls, at least one will say yes. Our
neighbor’s daughter said she told him that even though this is Mexico, asking
a total stranger on the street for a date can only get you a firm “No” and
cement your reputation as a freak. I was
quite happy with this, because I knew nothing about that guy except my perception already sensed he was a bit
wobbly. Of course, he could be getting
constantly turned down by his daily uniform, knee length camouflage shorts,
headband and flip-flops are not typically things that get women hot.
After the mother and daughter discuss the antics from a few
nights earlier, the mom starts to tell how she met the strange fella. They were in the bank, waiting for hours (as
you do in Mexico)
and thus struck up a conversation. It
turns out that though that guy is a bit weird, he is a real sweetie according
to the mom…and the dad, as a matter of fact.
He actually has carried groceries for the mom, replaced the dad’s beer
after he helped himself to a little too many of the brand new case that was
just purchased. He is also somewhat of a
gentleman, walking home the daughter and others when a woman should not be
alone. It appears he has some admirable
traits. The mom gives us the brief
lowdown on the guy I have been seeing around town.
Turns out he is an Iraq war veteran. According to the story he told the mother, he
did his turn of duty, saw some things he wasn’t supposed to see and went
through some traumatic situations (no doubt about that). He is on meds, but the daughter says that he
confessed he doesn’t want to take them, and frequently skips his dosage. The guy showed up in Mexico via
bus. He had his duffle bag and flip-flops,
and why he chose here, only he knows.
Leaving the States he took the bus over the border and in to
Guadalajara. The bus ride allowed some of the passengers
to size him up. After the long and
grueling bus ride, he was totally unaware of the snare laid waiting for him
when the bus stopped. Getting off the
bus and passing through a few customs agents, he was accosted by two guards
with baseball bats. It was not a pretty
sight. They beat him up real good, and
only the nearby crowd stifled the beating.
The two assailants fled and left him bleeding and beaten on the bus
station floor. The cops came and as he
got himself together, he was determined to press charges on the two assailants;
after all, there was a crowd of people who witnessed the beating and he was
sure justice would be served.
The cops took him to the station and began the lengthy chore
of Mexican paperwork. (Mind you, this is
Mexico
so filing a report is probably a waste of time because the cops won’t do
anything anyway). There was a mole in
the midst, because as the guy is filing his complaint and charges, the father
of one of the assailants shows up with cash in hand. He tries to buy the guy off and get him to
drop the charges. According to the tale
as it was told to me, the guy was confused as to why this was happening in a
police station. He insisted on the
charges staying in place and wanted the assailants arrested. He denied the money from the father and sent
him on his way. He was battered and
tired, and this process was taking way too long. Finally, after all was said and done, the
police returned that guy back to the
scene of the crime, the bus station.
Imagine it; you ride on the bus for countless hours to s
strange land and first thing that happens when you get off is you get beat to a
pulp by two guys with baseball bats.
Bloody, bruised and sore, you then have to go to the police station and
try to communicate with the police what just happened…and also have a stranger
come in and try to bribe you to drop charges.
There is no doubt this poor guy had been through the ringer and was dead
tired. The robbers took his bags and
rifled through his wallet, so he was left with nothing but a beaten body. Returning back to the bus station, he had no
idea what to do next. Exhausted, he sat
quietly and drifted off to sleep. He was
unaware and had no idea of the time frame, but while he had dosed off asleep,
two men came in to the bus station and searched for him. When they found their mark, they began taking
photos of him. Obviously, these guys
were not doing this for curiosity, but these images would quickly be dispersed to
some rough characters that would see to it that this lowly gringo who insisted
on pressing charges would be done away with.
As the two men finished their photos and left, a thoughtful and
concerned passenger in waiting nudged the stranger and told him to wake. They relayed the instance of what just
happened and told him to leave immediately, or else. Obviously, the beaten foreigner knew what
would happen if he stayed any longer.
With no bags or anymore belongings, he grabs the first bus out of
there. Guess where he lands?
Like I said, any guy who walks around in camouflage shorts
and flip flops and matching headband must have a few screws loose. After the story was told to me about this
guy, I soon understood why, and yes, my heart felt for the guy. What does one do after fighting crazed Arabs
in the dusty Middle East and then coming here
and as soon as your feet touch the ground you get a thorough ass kicking by two
crazed Mexicans with baseball bats?
Anyone would suffer from a few screws getting knocked loose after that.
So here he is, trying to start a new. I now know a bit more about that guy, and
have a bit of reverence for him. Who
knows, maybe he is just a loose canon who deserved getting the living daylights
beat out of him-maybe not, who knows? I
can at least understand some of his kooky behavior a bit better, even though I
question a bad case of shell shock being the cause of asking out every single
girl you see in hopes that a single one says yes.
In his defense, how many young guys today will carry a
stranger’s groceries for them? Better
yet, how many punks these days know that when walking with a woman, you take
the outside of the sidewalk? Not
many. Perhaps that guy isn’t such a bad apple after all. I know that I will end up talking to him
sooner than later, and then I will know if my pre-judged opinion was right, or
if I totally missed the mark.
