Once Upon a Time in Mexico

It was time to head to Mexico.  During the time that I was working at the ski hill, a plan began to formulate as to how I could manipulate the system to get what I wanted.  I wanted to get as close to Australia as possible, but I didn’t have any money.  I was in a deep rut financially due to my habit of snorting powder up my nose.  I had to come up with a solution. There was only so much money I could manipulate out of my Mom at this time. 

And so, I signed up for an online course to get my ESL certificate. It seemed like a legit course, and even offered a practicum in Mexico, teaching at an orphanage.  My Mom agreed to pay for the course, and I set about studying. I’ve always loved the English language, and I’ve particularly loved learning. It gave me pleasure to go through the materials, check all the boxes, and take the tests. 

I passed the certificate with ease, and it was time for me to head to Mexico. 

Having never travelled anywhere on my own at this age, I was a bit nervous. I had travelled to France, Spain, and Monaco with Mom, and Maui, but I had never gotten on a plane by myself.  I was nervous. 

Arriving in Mexico, I got on the bus as described in my instructions and ended up in a tiny little beach town a few hours from Cancun. All the teacher trainees were in one house together, and I was shown to my room in the house. The first thing I noticed was a giant cockroach, and I just about turned around and got back on the bus. I never did get used to having cockroaches in my bedroom. 

The house was run by the owners of the ESL company, but the owner took on the role and responsibility of making sure us teachers were safe.  Because I had lost my father, I was quite adamant that no one else could fill those shoes, and the battle began.  In my mind, the man was telling me what I couldn’t do, and I was an adult.  He had no business trying to keep me from living my life. 

Part of our experience as teachers in Mexico was to participate in the local market when the cruise ships came in.  It was our job to be the host on the tour bus for the Americans coming in, and make sure that everyone was happy and had what they needed.  We’d then end up at the local market where we would connect with the locals and show some of the tourists around.  

One cruise day, I met a couple of American men who were looking for some fun.

Tequila shots and margaritas were a dollar, and I knew exactly where to take them.  Pretty soon, I couldn’t remember my own name as shot after shot of tequila was brought to our table.  I didn’t care.  I was living my best life, flirting with these men I would never see again, and laughing it up on a beach in Mexico. 

Later that evening, I tried to get back to the teacher house, and somehow managed to stumble to the right home.  As I stumbled in, I was greeted by the man who owned the house in a very inhospitable manner. He was yelling at me and calling me a slut. I couldn’t quite figure out what was happening, as the tequila fog still weighed heavily upon me.

Pretty soon though, the tequila turned to rage as I continued to listen to this man scream at me that I was never going to get anywhere in life, and that I needed to be more aware of who I spent my time with. 

As he continued to call me names, I retaliated. 

Screaming back at him that he was not my father, I slammed the door in his face and went to bed. 

The next morning, I felt terrible.  Although I didn’t agree with the words this man had thrown at me, I also knew that I had made a mistake.  I went out to apologize only to discover that there was an intervention waiting for me. Coming into the kitchen, he and his wife were sitting at the table, and asked me to sit down. He proceeded to inform me that he had received a call from the Canadian embassy and that my passport had been found.  

I was confused. I had not gone anywhere with my passport.

I had left my passport ‘safely’ in the hands of this man and his wife, who claimed they were taking care of my best interests. What I didn’t know at the time was that he had friends at the Canadian embassy, and he wanted to scare me enough to teach me a lesson. 

After a deep and difficult conversation, he agreed to help me at the embassy so I could go recover my passport. Of course, I felt humiliated and awful, thinking at this time that it was all my fault and that I had somehow been stupid enough to lose my passport. I was devastated.  It took me almost a month to find out that he had actually taken my passport to his friend at the embassy and asked him to scare me with a lost passport. 

Once I discovered the treacherous behavior this man was ready and capable of doing, all bets were off, and I began to make even poorer decisions on that beach in Mexico.