1984. Not the novel by George Orwell, but the actual year. July 19. Bored in San Diego, California, I was thinking of what my girlfriend and I could do to kill the day. We had done so many things together we’d run out of ideas. We had been to the famous San Diego Zoo several times, watched a play in Balboa Park ("My Fair Lady"), and had slept under the stars on the beach (among a multitude of other things). I decided on a trip to Tijuana, Mexico.
We were at the zoo and were bored. I talked to a bespectacled man who seemed rather agitated. Making attempts to be upbeat fell on deaf ears. I walked away.
At any rate, Patty was game on for a trip to Mexico. We bought a 12-pack of Coors, placed the cans in an icy Styrofoam cooler, and headed south from downtown San Diego, California. I related to her how good the food was as well as how prices were really cheap.
I drove my Chevy Impala at a casual 80 mph to keep with the flow of traffic. Californians drive fast.
I advised my girlfriend further about the food in Mexico. Some of it was fantastic, even the street food, and some of it was so bad you could sit on a toilet for a week and wish you were dead. Yeah. It could be that bad.
Patty suggested some quick food at a San Ysidro 7-11. It's a border town and it sounded good to me at the time. But then I saw a California Highway Patrol cop parked next to the open spot where I was going to park. I parked anyway. And since I was drinking, I thought it best to wait in the car until the officer left the premises.
The decision more than likely saved my life. We waited a full 5 minutes before we entered.
McDonald’s was across the street, and she had originally wanted a Big Mac, but I opted for a chili infused, super duper spicy beef burrito with queso (cheese). They were the bomb in more ways than one, if you know what I mean.
“Hey, babe, I’ll run across the street and pick up a Big Mac while you nuke your burrito in the microwave. Cool?”
“Hang on and I’ll go with you,” I replied.
Inside the convenience store I heated my burrito while Patty looked around. Mexican souvenirs were everywhere, and a lot of the signs were in English and Spanish. I can read, write and speak Spanish so it was all good.
As we walked out of the 7-11 to get in the Chevy and drive to McDonald’s, we heard popping noises. “WTF was that?” she inquired, quite alarmed. They were loud.
“Ah, not to worry; they’re probably still celebrating Cinco de Mayo or are getting a head start on another holiday.”
The pop, pop, pops continued.
“You know what, freaking McDonald’s blows chunks and sugar, so let’s eat dinner in Mexico. Heck, be like Columbus and take a chance! Right?”
At the midpoint of the road, we turned back, but not before I saw a pre-teen girl crash her bicycle in front of the restaurant. I thought nothing of it. Stuff happens all the time. Right?
We arrived at the border of Mexico 10 minutes later, raring to go.
The line at the entry checkpoint was short. I hid my can of beer as we rolled up. A white male in his mid-30s dressed in a green uniform spoke to us through my open window. “¿Cuál es su propósito al venir a México?”
I was deeply tanned with black hair, so he likely mistook me for a Mexican. “My purpose is to get a haircut, eat some great food, catch a bullfight, and have some night life fun,” I answered.
“Enjoy your stay, senor!”
We drove on on a paved road which a half mile down turned into a bumpy dirt road and then we were in Tijuana. The jefe (boss) at the car lot wanted $1, but like in all things Mexico, I attempted to bargain.
"Fifty and a can of Coors?" No deal. The heck with it.
I paid, walked to the main drag, bought a hand grenade (no kidding) and a slew of fireworks and clothing. We partied, caught the bullfights, ate some food, and had a great time. But we wanted to get out of town before dark. That's when the gangsters and the rival cartels come into town to "play" cowboys and Indians.
We hit the checkpoint at the U.S border and had to wait so I turned on the radio. The news was reporting that James Huberty had murdered 21 people and wounded 19 other people at...get this, the McDonald's where we were going to eat! We were tripping like we were on an LSD trip.
Huberty was killed by a police sniper some 80 minutes after the massacre began.
You can use your favorite browser to check the facts. All I know is that we missed death by mere moments. You never know when life as we know it makes the unexpected jump to death. Enjoy life while you can.
