Alto!

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Padraic's mother had a very serious talk with Padraic, older brother Kevin, and younger cousin Finn. "Things are different in Mexico. You must put your used toilet paper in a trashcan. Never flush it down the toilet."

"Why?" asked Finn.

"Because Mexican toilets are different."

"Why?"

"Because they have less money."

Crossing the border from San Diego into Tijuana was easy enough. Huge concrete walls and men in camouflage impeded traffic from the other direction. A nearly-empty toll road ran from the outskirts of Tijuana to the beach resort. Intense sunlight lit the dust of the scrubland, empty except for thorny weeds and a car full of relatives driven by the venerable patriarch, GrandDude.

On the beach a teenager tried to sell a brown-skinned, sombrero-wearing, ludicrously-happy, marionette to the three young Americanos. Twelve-year-old Kevin tried to explain to Finn the concept of haggling. Eight-year-old-Finn simply gave the grinning local his asking price.

Signs in English and Spanish warned of rip tides as the boys played under the careful gaze of Padraic's mother. Padraic saw a small spotted crab near the water's edge. He picked it up, only to have his curiosity rewarded by a powerful pincer locked onto his pinkey. He screamed, tugged at the crab, and panicked. After a full minute of searing pain Padraic put his hand in the water. The recalcitrant crab immediately released its grip and scuttled into the safety of the surf.

GradDude was in the driver's seat for the journey back to America. Undersized Mexican stop signs meekly told him to "alto". They often eluded his attention. He ran through one at a deserted intersection.
"I think that was a stop sign. You'd better be more careful."
Three miles later there was another one, partially hidden by a large, well-watered bush. GrandDude didn't see it and continued accelerating down the road. A Mexican police car materialized from the morning mist. Familiar blue-and-red lights flickered through the nearly-deserted suburban street. The children were startled to see two unsmiling, well-armed men talk to their GrandDude. Their English was impeccable.

"Hello señor, do you know why we pulled you over? You ran a stop sign."

"But, that was impossible to see!"

"Nevertheless, you must pay the fine. You can pay it here. First we must check your driver's license." They examined GrandDude's wallet. Interestingly, the fine was almost exactly equal to the entirety of his easily-accessible American currency.

For the remainder of their journey the young people eagerly scanned the roadside for hidden stop signs and the first one to see the familiar octagon shrieking "Alto! Alto!" Finally, they returned to a land where only the rich can afford corruption.

http://s7.zetaboards.com/PPooDD/forum/3025297/

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