day three.
The Australian put down his Corona and grinned. “I’ll believe it when I see it, mate.”
In my mind, it had already happened. I was already planning how I’d tell the story. How I’d fashion us as carefree and spontaneous. How I’d paint us as heroes. I had already formulated the following day’s Facebook status in my head.
A good friend once told me, “Most people make bad decisions because they fail to consider the consequences. You make bad decisions specifically because you have considered the consequences – and deemed them hilarious.”
So follows one of those occasions. Welcome to Mexico.
In my mind, it had already happened. I was already planning how I’d tell the story. How I’d fashion us as carefree and spontaneous. How I’d paint us as heroes. I had already formulated the following day’s Facebook status in my head.
A good friend once told me, “Most people make bad decisions because they fail to consider the consequences. You make bad decisions specifically because you have considered the consequences – and deemed them hilarious.”
So follows one of those occasions. Welcome to Mexico.
“Oi, Lisa!” the guy behind the hostel’s counter shouted. “Guess who just signed up for our Tijuana tour? Six New Zealand boys.”
Lisa started laughing. “Oh, dear. It’s going to be a big night.”
Apparently just the week before, the tour group was graced by another six New Zealanders. One ended up putting a hole in the hostel’s wall. Another puked in the hallway. Two had their eyebrows pierced and one got a tattoo of a kiwi on his chest.
They were legends.
The guy rubbed his forehead and grinned. “You’ve big shoes to fill, boys. I have high expectations.”
Lisa started laughing. “Oh, dear. It’s going to be a big night.”
Apparently just the week before, the tour group was graced by another six New Zealanders. One ended up putting a hole in the hostel’s wall. Another puked in the hallway. Two had their eyebrows pierced and one got a tattoo of a kiwi on his chest.
They were legends.
The guy rubbed his forehead and grinned. “You’ve big shoes to fill, boys. I have high expectations.”
The sign read, “BEER FOR 99 CENTS.”
About thirty travellers crowded the bar’s courtyard, just a short walk from the border.
We’d quite literally just walked into the country. No passport check. No bag search. There is more security at Walmart than at the Mexican border.
The tour guide moved his way from plastic table to table, a pale-yellow margarita in hand.
He told us of the previous tours. Of one guy who was arrested emptying his bladder in an alleyway. Two British girls fleeced by the police. And the Canadian who had his scrotum pierced in a nightclub.
Expectations.
About thirty travellers crowded the bar’s courtyard, just a short walk from the border.
We’d quite literally just walked into the country. No passport check. No bag search. There is more security at Walmart than at the Mexican border.
The tour guide moved his way from plastic table to table, a pale-yellow margarita in hand.
He told us of the previous tours. Of one guy who was arrested emptying his bladder in an alleyway. Two British girls fleeced by the police. And the Canadian who had his scrotum pierced in a nightclub.
Expectations.
The tour guide passed each of us a drink and began another horror story. Each finished with a feeble disclaimer.
“...so don’t do that.”
And then came more stories of people who had. Each warning rang through my ears as yet another example of people escaping Mexico with stories of pluck and daring.
The guide stood and walked to another group. “But seriously, don’t get a tattoo and don’t get a piercing.”
I looked up and locked eyes with Pete.
Tattoo?
Too permanent.
Piercing?
Where? Ear?
Too boring. Eyebrow?
Too visible. Navel?
Too feminine. Nipple?
Nipple?
“Nipple,” we said together.
“...so don’t do that.”
And then came more stories of people who had. Each warning rang through my ears as yet another example of people escaping Mexico with stories of pluck and daring.
The guide stood and walked to another group. “But seriously, don’t get a tattoo and don’t get a piercing.”
I looked up and locked eyes with Pete.
Tattoo?
Too permanent.
Piercing?
Where? Ear?
Too boring. Eyebrow?
Too visible. Navel?
Too feminine. Nipple?
Nipple?
“Nipple,” we said together.
The restaurant was shades of orange. Fairy lights were strung across the ceiling. Garish paintings plastered the walls.
The waiter danced down our long table, whisking away our empty plates and indiscriminately spraying tequila down our throats.
To the left was a dimmed dance floor. A stained pool table.
And right in the corner, a small tattoo parlour.
I nodded at the Australian, stood and walked towards the cage.
“How much for a nipple piercing?” I asked.
The small Mexican man looked up. “Forty.”
“I’ll do it for twenty."
A bead of sweat appeared on my brow.
“Done,” he said.
The waiter danced down our long table, whisking away our empty plates and indiscriminately spraying tequila down our throats.
To the left was a dimmed dance floor. A stained pool table.
And right in the corner, a small tattoo parlour.
I nodded at the Australian, stood and walked towards the cage.
“How much for a nipple piercing?” I asked.
The small Mexican man looked up. “Forty.”
“I’ll do it for twenty."
A bead of sweat appeared on my brow.
“Done,” he said.
White. That’s all I remember really. White light. White walls plastered with white paper.
White gloves.
I leaned back on the plastic chair.
The tattoo artist rubbed my nipple with a paper towel. His jet-black hair was slicked back, with shaved sides. He wore round wire glasses and a white face mask.
“Just relax,” he said.
I swore under my breath and closed my eyes.
Thirty-odd people were pressed against the barred windows. I heard them jostling, laughing, shouting. My heart pounding.
I felt a clamp.
I exhaled slowly.
And then pain. Quick, piercing, concentrated pain.
And then elation.
White gloves.
I leaned back on the plastic chair.
The tattoo artist rubbed my nipple with a paper towel. His jet-black hair was slicked back, with shaved sides. He wore round wire glasses and a white face mask.
“Just relax,” he said.
I swore under my breath and closed my eyes.
Thirty-odd people were pressed against the barred windows. I heard them jostling, laughing, shouting. My heart pounding.
I felt a clamp.
I exhaled slowly.
And then pain. Quick, piercing, concentrated pain.
And then elation.
I stood on the podium in the centre of the dingy club, flanked by Jako and Pete. The music thumped.
I held my shirt in one hand, while the other idly fingered the small bar through my nipple. I pushed it to one side and winced.
Jako chuckled and shook his head mock-despairingly. “What were we thinking, bro?”
I looked down at the throng of people below. Their flailing arms and swaying bodies blurred for a moment and formed a mob of adoring fans.
A German girl yelled out from the crowd. “You guys are legends. Crazy story!”
I smiled.
I held my shirt in one hand, while the other idly fingered the small bar through my nipple. I pushed it to one side and winced.
Jako chuckled and shook his head mock-despairingly. “What were we thinking, bro?”
I looked down at the throng of people below. Their flailing arms and swaying bodies blurred for a moment and formed a mob of adoring fans.
A German girl yelled out from the crowd. “You guys are legends. Crazy story!”
I smiled.
I pushed my way into the hostel and collapsed in a couch beside the stairs. A small group of backpackers sitting further up yelled out and waved.
I waved back and fished the iPhone from my pocket. It was three in the morning. I tried to calculate the time in New Zealand, gave up and dialled my home number.
Later, when my parents look back on my life, searching for clues as to when everything started going wrong, this is the point they’ll say they finally abandoned all hope.
“Hey Mum. It’s me. Guess what? Just got my nipple pierced…”
I waved back and fished the iPhone from my pocket. It was three in the morning. I tried to calculate the time in New Zealand, gave up and dialled my home number.
Later, when my parents look back on my life, searching for clues as to when everything started going wrong, this is the point they’ll say they finally abandoned all hope.
“Hey Mum. It’s me. Guess what? Just got my nipple pierced…”
(For those interested, this entry is made up of a series of drabbles. A drabble is a story exactly 100 words long which should be able to stand on its own. Yep. Each section is exactly 100 words. I know. Now I’m just showing off.)