California Dreaming

I really needed to get across that border and to the UPS store. I used some of my Fulbright money to buy a class set of Spanish-English dictionaries and the boxes had been waiting for me for two days in California.

Getting up before 8AM seems like waking up in the middle of the night for me now. I made it up around seven and sat bleary eyed, drinking my coffee and plotting how I could get those boxes. Half an hour drive to the border. About a half an hour to get through the checkpoint. Fifteen more minutes on the trolley. How big were these boxes going to be? Haul boxes back to trolley. Ride it fifteen more minutes back. Drag large boxes over big footbridge to Mexico and drive back home. "Screw it," I thought "I'm gonna drive".

I decided to go through Otay, the lines are supposed to be shorter than San Ysidro's. I felt weirdly independent as I drove through town. Kind of like when you put a dog in the car and it gets all excited and looks like it's smiling. I passed a taxi with "El Cholo" proudly displayed across its windshield. I got lost trying to find the border crossing. Finally I saw big lines of cars and pulled down one of the lanes. It was mysteriously short. I knew I was doing something wrong and couldn't figure out how to reverse the situation. "Oh well," I thought "they'll just tell me to turn around or something". I approached the gate.

The agent looked at me with a little apprehension. "Hi," I said. "I have no idea what I am doing, I haven't crossed in a car before and this line seems way too short". "Yeahh..." he said "You're in the Sentri line, the line for trusted travelers that have undergone criminal background checks". He was surprisingly cool, not yelling, it was actually like a normal conversation. "It's confusing around here. I am going to let you through with a warning" he said, placing an orange card and my passport under my windshield wiper. "Just pull up there and stop" he said, pointing toward a garage-ish area. "That, um, parking lot?" I clarified, pretending that I didn't know what it was. "Yeah" he said. I thanked him. I knew I really didn't want to go in that area. I've seen it before from the bridge at San Ysidro and on Weeds. But, I figured I deserved it. I cut in the line, I could at least sit a while in the Secondary Inspection Area.

Border Patrol agents drank coffee and milled around. Several cars waited in various lanes to be checked. Dismantled cars sat pulled off to the side. The agents were strangely pleasant and normal, it actually seemed like any office, except for the weird gigantic tools laying around, drug sniffing dogs and guns. They didn't exactly seem to be going in order of arrival, some folks were getting checked that had come in after me. Again, I figured I deserved it. Maybe they were going to let me sit there the amount of time I should have sat in line. Agents thumped on the panels of the cars and climbed under them with mirrors. They opened hoods and trunks. A couple of agents approached me at various times and did a few little things. I felt very wide eyed and cautious about my movements. Agents have opened fire two times in San Ysidro since I arrived in Tijuana, I really didn't want to do anything stupid to startle them. A red sports car with chrome tail pipes and a California tag pulled up next to me. The agents thumped on the interior panels of his car and went to work thumping on the exterior panels. One agent called another agent over. She listened carefully as the other agent thumped around near the gas tank. She started to nod her head slowly. Two agents removed the man from the car and handcuffed him. A sly, knowing smile spread across his face as he was lead away.

They were asking other drivers for proof of car registration and insurance cards. My car is insured and registered in the United States, but being the sharp one that I am, I carry little proof of either. It was dawning on me that I might not be able to explain my way out of this, that I might actually be in trouble. My track record with the migra hasn't been so hot. The SUV next to me was finally cleared and when the driver went to start his car, the battery had died. He looked thrilled. He had been watching me for a while, possibly because I appeared to be the only non-Latino in the Secondary Inspection Area. The agents approached my car, asked me to give them my car keys and started thumping it. After repeated attempts to get the hood open, they finally let me get out and open it myself. The ran my sketchy paperwork through their system. I imagined red flashing lights going off in their computer: Got in argument with Pig Faced Man at San Ysidro. Photo: There she is walking through the Sonoran desert with four gallons of water. Police report: She did something really dumb when she was twenty-three. Document check: Has that crusty old Mazda been properly imported and exported from Mexico? I watched as the agents siphoned the gas from the red sports car. "Please be careful next time." one of the agents instructed me. "The fine for what you did is between $500.00 and $5000.00". FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS? Dude, I'm a teacher! I thanked them and actually meant it and drove through the last checkpoint. An agent circled my car again. "Georgia!" he howled, "You lost?!" "Yes, I am" I said, laughing with a big sense of relief. He directed me toward the mini malls in Chula Vista and I sped off into California with banda music on my radio.

I missed my dentist appointment, but only by like twenty minutes. Maybe I did it on purpose. Maybe I subconsciously preferred the Secondary Inspection Area to the dentist's office. I got to work, feeling like I had already had a full day. Profe Julio unpacked a syringe and some sort of vial he had bought at the pharmacy and handed them to the nurse Profe. They walked to the other side of the teacher's workroom and she put a shot in his butt. The academic coordinator and another teacher stood up on chairs, pointed, laughed and took photos with their cell phones. The bell rang, Profe Julio pulled up his pants and we all left to teach our classes.

I am wondering if that MacGyver Profe can fix my cracked molar.