If mind-readers really exist, I think they reside in droves south of our border. At every turn during my family’s five-day Mexican resort vacation (generously comped by my time-share owning in-laws), someone, somewhere, was always a step ahead of me.
So in appreciation for all of Mexico’s remarkable foresight anticipating my every need, I say “gracias.”
To Natasha – the bronzed twenty-something activities director: How did you know I needed a shot of tequila squirted into my mouth as I played pool volleyball? Was it because I sprang from my poolside recliner and jumped into the pool to frantically join the game already in progress when I saw you wading through the shallow end towards the players, armed with two bottles of liquid gold? Just call me Señor Suave, please.
To the resort’s interior designers who shunned carpet: I know tropical locations virtually require the room-cooling effects provided by stone or ceramic-tile flooring. But how did you know wall-to-wall terracotta tile would make a midnight clean-up effort so easy for me, after my eight-year-old son emptied his stomach full of churros onto your floors? (Twice.) I will envy your good planning sense next flu season in my carpeted Minnesota home.
To the bartender who worked the daily two-for-one happy hours: How did you know I required a lesson in math? (I usually do.) When I ordered TWO margaritas during the two-for-one special and you brought me FOUR (and tried to charge me for FOUR), you noticed the bewilderment on my face and kindly informed me, “If you want TWO margaritas you should only order ONE.” Nothing confusing about that, right? And thank you for not snickering whenever I ordered the accidental adult drink special: a Corona with lime. So cliché, I know.
To the relentless swarm of souvenir peddlers, roaming the beach: I had a drink in my hand, my toes in the sand and was half asleep listening to the gentle surf rolling in, completely at peace with the world. So how did you know that I was in the perfect frame of mind to buy a hand-carved wooden moose? Or an NFL throw rug? Or a leather belt? Or a fedora? Such marketing savvy! Why didn’t you also capitalize on the 30-second opportunity as I stood at the urinal in the beachside cabana, and like most men, realized at just that moment I really needed to buy some wind chimes and a kite. You missed a sale, amigo!
To the resort planners who built an on-site grocery store: You knew eating at restaurants three times a day, five days in a row, can quickly become a pricey prospect for the average middle-class family of five. You also knew that convenience is critical to the American consumer. So offering an on-site grocery store stocked with the basic food staples? That’s sheer brilliance. But how did you know that price gouging your customers by upcharging every item at about three times the typical U.S. value would work so effectively on desperate vacationers like us? Pricing a 14-ounce box of Lucky Charms cereal at the equivalent of nine U.S. dollars? Well, that’s just magically delicious.
To the heavenly Mexican sun: Scientists tell us that a singular hydrogen star shines upon all corners of our planet. So how did you know that they were lying? Thank you for temporarily drop-kicking the anemic, scrawny and utterly feeble Minnesota sun into another solar system and instead replacing it with your sizzling, fiery radiance. Burn, yo!
So how did you know, Mexico?
Maybe that’s a question best contemplated for another day – mañana. Right now I’m too busy shaking sand out of my beach-reading material, Stuff White People Like. Who knew an accidental adult would drop his book into the sand so often while falling asleep? Guess I’ll blame that on Natasha’s prescient mid-day refreshments.
Adios y gracias, Mexico!