Actually, this one was leading a long line of bicyclists.One cultural difference is the ability of mexicanos to patiently wait and to go through the bureaucratic hoops that are just a part of life here. I pride myself in my patience, but baby, this was pushing it. I will have to do better. I promise I will never say anything bad about the DMV's in the States again...ever.
On Friday, I waited eight hours for the car to show up. The seller, the money (me) and the fixer all had to be in the same room at the same time - plus Henry and Rosa, who acted as translators and cheerleaders. Eventually, the deal went down. Then it was on to getting the plates. I accompanied Antonio, the fixer, as we jumped through those hoops. It would have been difficult to do without him. He knew the right people and a little under-the-table money helped grease the skids. So after four hours, ten different people, more paperwork than should be allowed, I had plates. Then a quick lunch and a new stereo with an ipod connection and I was cookin'.
So what did I get?
I hope it is not too flashy for the neighborhood.Actually, I got a Jetta.
No comments:
Post a Comment