Love you on a Tuesday

"Please buckle your seat belts for take off" the flight attendant instructed. That's what I like to hear. I stared at my Tijuana - Culiacán boarding pass. If you had asked me thirteen months ago if I ever expected to be holding a boarding pass with those two names on it, I would have definitely said: I believe those two names are restricted to newspaper articles about narcotrafficking. Apparently not for the families and ordinary looking people that filled the plane. One of those two names probably meant home.

I was surprised when my school approved my request for a Monday off on late Friday afternoon. "Is it enough notice?" I asked. "Oh, no problem. Culiacán es preciosa, I'm from there!" one of my bosses told me, beaming. At my U.S. school, we had to request days off, even days for professional development, at least a month in advance. Have I mentioned lately how much I love Mexico? The principal appeared and commented again on my absence from the work Day of the Teacher party. "We would like to invite you to a breakfast, Saturday morning at nine, downtown" he stated, "I noted your absence at the party!" He handed me an invitation for a breakfast in honor of Mother's Day. Hmmm, Mother's Day was weeks ago and I do not have children. Exactly why was my presence requested? The fog of confusion entered my brain. 9AM broke through the fog like a cryptic, smoldering black menace. I nodded vaguely, knowing I wasn't going to go and dreaded the retribution that is surely coming.

I had found a cheap ticket with an airline with "bus" in its name. I am always kind of against using that word to describe planes. I am not sure why anyone would like to identify themselves as the Greyhound of the sky. There is another airline that uses the word "calafía" in their name. In Tijuana, the cheapest and most rickety buses in town are called calafías. They zig zag through traffic, cutting others off and stopping wherever they please. Whenever I think of this calafía airline, I think of a rusty plane blowing black smoke through the sky, tearing in front of 747s and landing in a dust covered field while the passengers jump from an open door of the plane to the ground because there are no stairs.

I bought my plane ticket and decided to hose off my car. I haven't washed it once since it arrived and it uh, shows. It is so dusty here I really didn't see the point, but the students are becoming increasingly fascinated by the level of filth present on my automobile. It looks like a rolling beach. I see their heads snap and stare when the sandy hooptie of the American profe rolls by. A quick spray down made it look like it was just kind of dirty.

I stepped out onto the stairs to exit the plane in Culiacán and was hit by hot, damp air at nearly ten o'clock at night. I pulled my hood up, crouched low and crawled on my elbows and knees military style to the airport entrance. Just kidding. The city looked nice from the taxi windows. I met up with another exchange teacher to attend a teaching conference that was arranged by a third exchange teacher that is based in Culiacán.

Monday morning, the conference room was filled with teachers from Sinaloa. I was surprised by the turn out and was left with the impression that the Sinaloa education ministry is pretty hot shit. Of all of the impressive teachers in the room, one strange one approached my friend and me. "I want to be an English teacher" the shifty guy with a long scar on his forehead told us. "I went to the U.S. as wetback ten years ago and learned English in Las Vegas". I asked myself if I should question him about his choice of terminology and decided not to.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I was back in the airport. I watched Argentina whup Canada in a friendly match and headed towards security. "Please wait" the security guard told me solemnly. I waited a few minutes and was sent to the X-ray machine. As I turned the corner, I saw a cluster of guards surrounding an empty pizza box that was sitting on the conveyor belt. They all started giggling. "It was her birthday!" they called between giggles, pointing at one uniformed woman.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love Mexico?

*Title, Tuesday Moon, Neutral Milk Hotel