After 4 days in Puebla and a weekend with the cunyados (who are gorgeous perfect people but in-laws nonetheless and thus exhausting) I decide that it’s high time for a cerveza. Off I go to OXXO, the 7-11 of Mexico, where I purchase a 1.15L of El Sol and a packet of Marlboro Lights. Because when you give a mouse a cookie, she’s going to want to smoke a pinche cigarette.
I get home, throw my tall boy in the fridge, and hit the head to clear out the tank. When I pop the flusher, it sinks into the frictionless oblivion known as “bad plumbing.” No problem, I’m as handy with a ballcock as anyone. I open the tank, quickly break something, and a mini flood ensues. No problem, I have a bucket. The flood is short-lived. Life goes on. Until I realize that the tank is empty. I go to the sink – nothing. Shower – even less. It would appear I have no water. Good – I came here to live on the edge, experience a different way of life than that wet American dream I’ve come to know so well.
Yet I wish my culture shock could have happened tomorrow because here I am, with desires to drink but no vessel in which to break the seal. Sacrifices are integral in such situations, and it is at this point that I apologize to my poor about-to-be-over-extended bladder, and raise my glass. Salud.