Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Sunglasses? Weed?

Another funny story from Cabo - vacations are awesome in that way, I could probably write 50 more blogs about just that one week. I won't, don't worry, but I'm going to write at least one more. Or maybe two...

To start off, as anyone who has been to anywhere in Mexico will know, there are constantly vendors of...stuff. Everywhere. Pushing trinkets and souvenirs to unsuspecting tourists. Or, I suppose by the time they get out of the airport, they're no longer unsuspecting, but that's not the point.

Now, first of all, these vendors see me, and they just KNOW that I'm the one to go after. They push through crowds to get to me, follow me for blocks, haggle endlessly, KNOWING, without a doubt in their minds, that if anyone will break down today, it will be THIS girl. Seriously, I think it's written on my face. *Pushover!* *Gullible!* *Can't say no!* *Guilty conscience -- mention your children!*

I am not kidding you when I tell you that vendors IN THE MIDDLE OF A SALE would run over to me and offer their wares. So, I was absolutely positive I'd heard and seen all they had to offer by the 6th day we'd been there.

I was wrong.

I'd learned to do my best to not look them in the eye, not dare even glance at what they were holding, say nothing other than, "No, thank you." It only encouraged them. For me, encouragement was the last thing they needed.

On the night my husband and I went on our sunset dinner cruise (ahhh...) and the in-laws watched the little guy, we were walking down the pier for the millionth time, sun just setting behind us (Oh yeah, the boat totally docked before the sun set. The bastards. I wanted my money back. Thankfully, the in-laws paid for that one too...) So, not unexpectedly we were approached by a man with a huge bag on his back and a briefcase in his hand, "Pretty bracelet? Weed?"

I stopped. Damn it! But I couldn't help myself. I looked at my husband, who looked as shocked as me, and we both looked over at the guy. He held out his briefcase expectantly. It only had jewelry. Nothing we hadn't seen 300 times that day. I shook my head quickly and hastened my step hoping he hadn't gotten any ideas from the hesitation.

I leaned over to question my husband if he'd heard the same thing as me, but before I had a chance, another voice asked, "Sunglasses? Weed?"

I raised my eyebrows and tugged at his hand, I could not be making this up. But looking at the vendor again, he only held out his armful of sunglasses. I should have known it was real when they let me walk away so easily. Just in case I was undercover Federali. You never know what they'll be disguised as, you know.

"Pretty dress? Weed?"

"Whistle? Weed?"

"Blanket? Weed?"

"Kite? Weed?"

For real! Every single person we passed offered us weed! I was shocked! Not because of the weed, per se, I mean, I was a sorority girl, and let's face it, I DID grow up in California, it was just the fact that in all the times we'd walked down the exact same strip, seen the exact same vendors, we'd neve been offered weed before!

I guess this means we look like we can have more fun WITHOUT parents or a two-year old. Hm. Yes, I suppose you're right, I shouldn't be surprised.