Adventures in grocery shopping

I have been absent from the blog for a couple of weeks while I enjoyed being lazy up in Michigan with my family. The university is closed for most of July, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get out of town and escape the rainy 65-degree weather. We got back to Mexico City early Thursday morning, returning to an apartment with little more than crackers and cocoa mix left in the cupboards. Today was grocery shopping day.

As previously discussed, grocery shopping is probably the single most consistent stressor in my relationship with Keating. Today it was for different reasons. Our plan was simple: Keating would call me after work (yeah, he teaches on Saturdays) and we would meet up at the Superama on his way home. This would have worked out wonderfully, except that I didn't realize until after his call that I was locked IN the apartment. I have locked myself out of places plenty of times, the best example being the time I had to break back into my house in Buffalo and got stuck halfway through the large, street-facing window in my living room and my neighbors all decided to neither help the mysterious flailing legs nor call the cops (either would have been appreciated). This was the first time I've accidentally locked myself in. I ransacked the whole apartment, but couldn't find my keys anywhere. This was doubly bad because our landline is a complete POS and has never once successfully dialed a cell phone and I have refused to get a cell phone. Not only was I trapped in the apartment, I couldn't even call Keating to tell him. For his part, Keating was waiting for me at the Superama, reading under a ledge to kill the time and escape the downpour. After a couple of failed attempts, I was finally able to get through to Keating's cell phone using skype (Mexican cell phones use different location codes than landlines) to ask him to rescue me. Checking his pockets, Keating realized that he had both sets of keys and agreed to come home to let me out. Unfortunately, he then wandered inside the Superama to pay our gas bill and left his umbrella behind. By the time he realized that he had left it, his umbrella was gone and he was faced with a long, wet walk home. I'm pretty sure I've seen him drier when stepping straight out of the shower!

Fortunately, in the end all turned out well: I was freed from the food-less apartment, Keating eventually dried out, and we bought food and a new umbrella. Given the frustrations with just getting to the store, the actual grocery shopping was a complete cake-walk! Now we're just hoping that the rain stops long enough to allow us to do our post-trip laundry (our clothes dry on a line in the garden).

Why my job is worse than yours:

This is a follow-up to me gloating about having an awesome job. Now technically, the following complaint is not about my job, per se, but I think it's relevant.

Yesterday at a free department lunch (ok, that part was cool), one of the professors looked a little depressed. When questioned by his colleagues, he admit that he was bummed because his car had just been stolen from the parking lot. Someone had apparently tipped off the thieves that the security camera for that lot was down, and the security guard didn't notice anything to make him suspect that the car was being stolen when it drove out of the lot. Note: not only was the car in a guarded lot, it even had one of those theft-prevention devices on the steering wheel. Quietly, I asked my friend to my left if the professor had a thing for fancy cars -- it turns out that the guy drove a VW bug... of the "classic" (run-down) variety.

To make matters worse: this was the third time that that man had had his car stolen from the university lot.

You'd think that with a track record like that he'd learn to take the bus.

Theft

Yesterday, I almost stole a dog. I was thisclose. I mean, c'mon! It tried to follow me to work! Had it been following me home, I might be posting pictures of my new mutt....

On my walk to the bus stop yesterday morning I followed my normal route, cutting through a closed-street residential area. On this closed street, it isn't uncommon for people's dogs to be taking themselves for sunny little strolls. Petting one of these dogs would be like petting one of their owners while they were happily mopping their sidewalk (another favorite pastime); you just don't do it. I was surprised, then when a perky little Jack Russell Terrier came trotting right up to me. He was very friendly, but worried at first I might hit him and backed away timidly when I offered my hand. Once he realized he was safe, he more or less started head-butting my hand, trying to get to to scratch that magic place just behind his ears. He walked with me for the next couple of blocks, pausing every so many yards to see if I'd scratch his head again (I did). We continued like this al the way up to my bus stop, where he waited with me for a little while and then wandered off in search of other ear-scratchers. He had no tags or collar, but he looked too well fed to be homeless. Also, I can only imagine calling in to work to say that I won't make it that day because I've stolen a dog and want to make sure he doesn't eat my landlady's couch. (It's quite possibly the least comfortable couch in the world, but I still don't think she's appreciate it.) All the same, when I told Keating about it later, it was with the suggestion that we take a pork chop and wander the neighborhood. Keating sounded like he would have been all over it, except that we didn't have any chops in the house. He's been going into fuzzy-withdrawal even worse than I have, in part because I get to occasionally play with the department dachshund.

It made me really want to give my Asher a hug. He's living in Michigan, alternately tormenting and entertaining my parents. I miss my dog. (Don't worry, y'all. I kind of miss the rest of you, too! *grin*)

Pesos, dance recitals, and shoe attacks

I fell a little guilt at times that I spent so much of the space here writing about Keating's adventures. Then I think about it for a minute and realize that since I really do love my husband, I'm not exactly using him: it's not like I brought him down here with me for the express purpose of humor. That, and his life down here is WAY more interesting than mine. (I spend to much time at work, I guess.)

That said, let me tell you about his day yesterday. It started off simply enough, with him waking me up before he left for the day to ask if he could raid some money from my purse. It was cute of him to ask, but he's very lucky that I woke up enough to actually hear the question and not just roll over mumbling "no, the green bunny is mine..." since he would have then been left with either a) feeling like he's stealing from me or b) having no way to pay for his bus fare. (Side note: I'm leaning towards "b" since he's still incredibly creeped out by going into a woman's purse. I'm not sure what he thinks I keep in there, but it must be BAD.) Money obtained, he bought himself a juice box on the walk to the bus so that he would have correct change.

Up until about 1 pm, Keating's day was pretty basic. The commute was uneventful, as were his Pronunciation and Spanish classes. He paid back Odin, the guy with the snacks kiosk at the Spanish school, for a bottle of water he had been given the day before. (Never having met Odin, I'm envisioning someone who looks like a tan, short version of the Norse god.) Then he went to Salsa class. It turns out that, at the august age of 33, Keating will be performing in his very first dance recital. As the salsa class was divided into two performing groups, Keating looked around nervously. He figured that if he was going to be in a dance performance, he wanted to make sure that he at least had a decent chance of being paired with a partner who had a clue. He watched with dismay as the random "1-2" count-off placed the best female dancers in the other group. This dismay was nothing, however, compared to what he felt when he was told that they would be dancing in costume. In the other group, guys would dress in jeans and a button-down while the girls would have to wear little nurse's outfits. (I'm not making this up, I swear!) In Keating's group, the girls would wear long dresses and the boys would wear slacks and shirts...and luchador masks. (There is a widely publicized sex show coming to town next month, with pictures everywhere of people in kinky costumes. Could this be related???) I'm unclear on how he accomplished it, but in his desperation Keating successfully managed to get into Team Nurse. Once there, he was paired off by height with one of the Russian girls, a good dancer. He breathed a sigh of relief. Moments later, however, Keating's hopes were dashed when the teacher switched the Russian girl with a new girl in the class who didn't know any of the steps. Worse, new girl holds Keating's hands in a death grip when they dance, nearly wrenching his arm out of the socket during turns. He has three days to teach her the choreographed steps.

While salsa class went later yesterday with preparations for the performance, Keating was elated to have an excuse to escape before class ended: he had a meeting in another part of town with his new employers. Sweating profusely from dancing in a hot room, Keating ran for the metro line (which was also stifling), trying to make up for the time he had lost by class running over. After reaching his stop, Keating decided that he could walk quickly instead of running the last 10 blocks and still make his appointment on time. He hit green light after green light, making good time. His luck eventually ran out, and he finally had to wait at a red light. While there, he felt a tap on his arm. Turning, he saw a Mexican man with his hand extended to shake hands.

Mexican (in English): "Hi! I'm Ricardo. I work this street."

Keating (removing earbuds from ears): "Uh, hi."

With that, Ricardo released Keating's hand and dove for his feet. Keating gasped as he realized that Ricardo had just smeared something all over his right shoe and was about to start polishing it.

Keating (trying to back up while still having a man attached to his shoe and trying to figure out how he's going to get the mound of goo off his shoe before his appointment): "No! Stop! I am in a hurry. I am late for a meeting. I do not have time for this."

Ricardo: "No problem! It will only take a few minutes!"

Keating: "No! I'm actually late. I don't have two minutes. I do not want you to shine my shoes. I do not have any money on me!"

Ricardo (diving for the left shoe and ignoring Keating's attempts to flee): *whistling* ("finishing" second shoe) "Ok, that will be 45 pesos."

Keating(looking vaguely frantic both over the time and the situation): "I told you that I don't have it! I have almost no money with me! I didn't ask you to shine my shoes, and I tried to stop you."

Ricardo: "How much do you have?? You look nice. I will give you a discount."

Keating (thrusting the 4.5 pesos in his pocket at Ricardo): "Here, just take it."

Ricardo took the money and wandered off, looking irritated at only getting 10% of his price, while Keating took off at a run to make up for lost time. It was only after his meeting that Keating remembered about the 4.5 pesos. It was his bus fare for the trip home, the remaining change that he had snagged out of my purse that morning.

Fortunately for Keating, he found a 50 peso bill (about $4 USD) in his wallet. He bought himself a candy from the corner store to make change for the bus and made his way home. At the end of the day, his tally wasn't so bad:

1) He was no longer in debt to Odin.

2) He had escaped having to dance in a luchador mask.

3) He was now armed with his teaching supplies, including an umbrella, two work shirts, and a collection of pens and lighters to pass out to his students.

4) He had managed to only lose 4.5 pesos on his semi-shoeshine-mugging.

5) He now was the proud owner of one pair of incredibly greasy looking black shoes.