23 July 2012

The Dog Spit It Out

That when passing the US/Mexican border I was the only person subjected to more than cursory investigation.  I supplied my Passport, and was then asked to give a driving license.  I don't drive - I spent over 2 years legally blind, pressing "control plus" ten to twenty times per page, working as a writer but only able to read maybe three words per page.

I was the only Anglo on the damn bus, but all the Hispanics were passed through with outdated driving licenses, overdue green cards, and so on.  Finally, one Inquistador asked me exactly what the fuck was I doing in Matamoros for a whole week.

I informed him that I had been in San Miguel De Allende visiting my parents, and was taking notes for my sons who would be using the same bus route to come back to the USA.  The tickets, SMA to Queretero to Matamoros to Houston were all in the same damn folder that I had given the first dood, but he hadn't bothered to look at them.

Mother Mary and her eight tiny reindeer!  Fortunately, I had bummed a light for a cigarette from a Border Patrol agent who came on duty at that time (smoking can be good for you!), who was, it turns out, the top dog on duty.

(Thought I'd lost it, but it still isn't all here)

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