Yo sí limpio Tijuana

"ESTOY AQUI PARA LA BASURA!!!!" The garbage man shrieked, chasing a small boy in diapers down the street of our privada. Their huge truck tore down the street in reverse with a man hanging off the back drinking a Coke Zero, setting off car alarms as it passed. Half of our neighbors stood in the street either watching or scuttling to put their trash cans in the street for the Liberace of garbage men. Even trash pick up is a party in Mexico. "¡BASURRRRAAAAA!!!!" he howled, as the truck tore out of the privada as quickly as it had arrived.

I had an ugly experience on New Year's Eve that has stuck with me. I was feeling pretty jovial, drunk and even singing and dancing publicly in my favorite Atlanta bar with my friends. How this turned into a near physical confrontation with a Hispanic Border Patrol agent is beyond me. What was the migra doing in Atlanta? And how can a Mexican man proudly explain to me that he drags "illegals" back to the border? How can some culero say in public that they should be "shot on sight" and expect everyone to nod their heads and agree? If the Native Americans had had gunpowder, they might have employed his idea and trained the scope on the illegally entering pinche Mayflower. The little old Pinta might not have come out unscathed either.

I had to visit the Mexican migra again last week and got turned down again for my visa. Feeling frustrated, I hotboxed a couple of Nicorettes and crossed the border for the Chula Vista Target. "What's your name?" a big guy hanging out of the window of a cruising BMW asked me, "I think we went to school together!". I always fall for this shit. I told him my name and that I wasn't from around here. "Are you married?" he asked. Like I said, I always fall for this shit. I of course answered "yes" only to be told what a damn prize I am and that he would have snapped me up in a second. It sounded as if my consent wouldn't have really been an issue. I felt relieved to get back to Mexico until I saw the eyes. Again, lurking in the no man's land on the U.S. side, directly in front of the Mexican border, between two fences, feet away from the ICE agents. Curious, inquisitive eyes of multiple detained men watched me as I watched them and I slowly walked toward the turnstile, liberties intact, coming and going as I please.

The cars have been repeatedly visible in the parking lot, so I have been going to work on a regular basis. The walk on Monday was clear blue skies and warm weather until I saw the man in swat gear and a ski mask holding an automatic weapon in front of me on the sidewalk. Three more came into view and a police pick up truck full of detainees. The guys in the back looked pretty tough, I found myself hoping the police had apprehended the people who shot a man to death the other night in the neighborhood next to ours. I inadvertently made eye contact with one of the ski masked police before diverting my eyes to the ground as I carefully passed him. "Buenas tardes" he greeted me, as the rest of the police pick ups came into view. Cars were pulled to the side and trunks opened as the ski masked cops hunted for whatever, a number of things come to mind, they were looking for.

I am teaching the largest class I have ever taught. Nearly fifty kids that failed English during the ordinary semester have been packed into one classroom so that I can re-teach and re-test them. Students are everywhere. It is difficult to walk through the room; some kids cannot leave their seats without moving multiple tables. The punishment for late arrivals is hunting through neighboring classrooms for a chair. Other teachers stare in horror when the bell rings and the sea of kids pours out of the classroom after my 100 minute class.

It's cool.