“Rollin’ Down the Street, Sippin’ on Ron y Enza, laid back, got my mind on my córdobas and my córdobas on my mind”

¿Que Pasa?

Power line comes crashing through my roof: A few weeks ago, Nicaragua was hit with Hurican Alma. My house sustained some damage (like a hole in the roof due to a wayward power line toppling into it), but my neighbors sustained even more damage to their homes. During the storm, a chavalo decided to climb onto my neighbor’s roof to help secure the tiles. There were ramas (branches) everywhere and giant trees were uprooted and lay in complete disorder. We were without electricity, water and phone service. Luckily, my town was able to pick up the pieces rather quickly and normalcy was restored within a few days (however, my house is still without power).

Dog sitting: My neighbors decided to take a trip into the city for two days and asked if I could house sit and dog sit for them. I, of course, agreed and was left in charge. I went over to their house around mid-morning to feed and check on the dog. My neighbors left a giant bowl of chicken soup in their fridge for the dog to eat. They told me that the chicken was settled at the bottom of the pot and to make sure I dished out pieces of chicken with the broth. So, I poured some of the soup into the dog’s bowl but I noticed that none of the chicken made it into the bowl. I reached my hand into the soup to grab some chicken. Well, my neighbors forgot to mention that the “chicken” that they put into the soup was actually just chicken feet and hearts. My hand made contact with the pointy chicken nails at the bottom of the pot, and I didn’t quite realize what I was touching. I slowly withdrew my hand from the pot to discover that I was grasping feet and hearts.

My fan died: After serving me for an entire hot season, my fan finally gave up and stopped working (the motor had been overworked). I panicked because it was still super hot and I knew I would not be able to make it through the night without a fan. So that afternoon I went out and purchased a new fan (that will hopefully not breakdown and keep me cool).

Go for a 3-pointer: My town has a basketball team, and every Saturday and Sunday I enjoy sitting on the sidelines and watching them play. One team has a player named “El niño (“the kid”),” who is anything but a niño. Instead, he stands 6’5” and is more like a giant wall. However, he isn’t very agile or athletic, but he is really good at blocking the way.

The trash band: The trash collectors just added a new bonus to their service, not only will they pick up your trash but they will also have a band (that sits amongst the trash) play a little ditty of a song.

Happy Mother’s day (bring on the band): The month of May was Mother’s month. However, only 1 day of the month is devoted full out to the moms. The usual fanfare is to have a band serenade your mother’s at the wee hours of the morning (anytime around 3:30am or 4am). I am not a mom or a wife, but my neighbors still thought it would be fun to include the gringa in all the festivities. Therefore, at exactly 3:45am I had a 2 singers in a flatbed truck lined with giant speakers stilling outside of my house singing 4 songs. I was just a little angry. When the songs finally ended I thought I could get back to sleep (oh how wrong I was). The truck moved only 2 houses away and began the same serenade again and again and again. I had to hear it 4 times before they were finally out of earshot.

Bat killer: I killed a bat. Enough said.

Mud pit

I was biking to school (nothing new there) and came upon a rather large puddle (aka en español charco). I stopped at the edge and looked around for the clearest path to cross through, but didn’t see anything. My only option was to go through the puddle. I backed my bike up a few feet and went for it. Two-feet in and my bike became stuck in the muck and I was forced to plant my left foot in the mud for stability. I was wearing a skirt and a pair of dress shoes. The mud came up to my knee. I ungracefully hopped out of the mud puddle and sought out dry ground. I road into town with one muddy leg and taught class that night I took my rain boots out of storage…they’re back and ready for action!

When the power goes out in the night, everything is encapsulated by blackness. Therefore, it is wise and recommended to stay indoors. One night, the power went out and the rain started to pound on my roof. In my home state of Colorado it rains, but in Nicaragua it pours. I have never witnessed such a torrential downfall of rain, and the thunder that accompanied the rain hit me to the core. No one in their right mind was going to leave their house during this storm. That is when I received a knock on my front door, only to find my friendly neighborhood stalker standing in front of me asking to borrow some salt. I lent him my salt. Then a few minutes later, he was back again to return my salt. I took my salt back. Then he proceeded to ask to borrow some chiltomas (peppers). I lent him some peppers. Then he asked to borrow the salt again. This escapade was probably going to continue on and so I decided to put an end to it by telling him I was going to go to bed.

Some rockin´students of mine at the mud pits

I rather enjoy taking bike rides around the surrounding countryside and I often encourage my school kids to come along for a ride. We had all planned to go to the hot springs (which are located in a neighboring town). The ride was about 1 hour and we were going to leave early on Sunday morning. I told the kids to meet me in front of the school at 7am so that we could leave before the sun got too hot. Everyone was told to bring a sack lunch and plenty of water. I woke up early on Sunday, and rode over to the school. I had packed myself a sandwich, and a snack of Ritz con queso. Moreover, I had 2 water bottles full of H2O. I also threw in some extra snacks for my kids. At 7am, on the dot, one of my students rode up on his bike ready to go. When I asked him where everyone else was he replied, “Oh, I will go get them, just wait here.” Thirty minutes later, he returned with the crew. Only seven of my kids had bikes and three kids were being “chinear’ed” (carried) on the crossbars of the bikes. What a group. I double-checked that everyone brought food and water. Then we left. About half way through the journey, we stopped for snacks and water. That’s when one of my students pulled out a 3-liter “Big Kola” bottle filled with water to pass around to the group. After a quick break, we continued on…until finally we reached our destination, the boiling mud pits. The boys started throwing boiling mud on one another and the girls were running away shrieking. I stood on the sideline trying not to get in the line of fire. The boys finally tired and we all decided to eat lunch and then head back home. One student brought a block of cheese to eat. Another student brought avocado and salt. They all traded food amongst themselves, and I was just glad that we chose the shorter excursion trip versus going all the way to the volcano (an 8 hour round trip). We ended the trip chasing a lizard and riding back into town performing bike tricks (for example, feet over the handlebars, one foot peddling, etc.).

More mud pits

The power line that across the street from my house

As a small child of five, I vividly remember visiting the Barnum and Bailey circus. Acrobats, trapeze artists, elephants, and clowns all given their own separate performing space in the giant cement auditorium filled full of screaming kids and reluctant adults who brought their children to the event. The clowns are my fondest memory, for some, the image of a clown might conjure up feelings of fear, but that is just because as a child they probably saw the movie “It”. Brief movie synopsis: a killer clown is on the loose and he is after a bunch of suburbanites, I know terrifying. I can honestly say that I do not have this fear of clowns, and I owe this in part to the fact that I didn’t see the movie “It” until I was around 20 years old, and by then the graphics, special effects and plot were outdated. Anyway, back to the clowns, I always loved the act where about 15 clowns piled into and out-of a tiny vehicle that appeared only large enough to hold 1 person in the first place. So how did they all fit? It is one of the great-unsolved mysteries of all times; right up there with, how did the Egyptians build the pyramids? I will uncover that mystery later. Besides, I highly doubt anyone knows the secret to the clown car. However, last night I came as close as ever to unveiling the mystic that surrounds this illusion (Note to reader: start playing the music “It’s the final countdown” in your head; trust me, it will make what I am about to say even more amazing and wondrous). Ok ready, music playing? I am about to reveal the mystery of the clown car: How do so many clowns fit into one isty-bitsy, tinny-tiny, minuscule vehicle? Well, the answer is quite simple, they all chinear one another, bending and contorting their bodies into the vehicle. Yep, it’s that simple and it might seem rather obvious. Now that I have revealed the “big” secret, you’re probably thinking to yourself, I already knew that (or you might be thinking what in the world does chinear mean). While I am sure you’ve pondered this great mystery, and “chinearing” was a likely hypothesis, you ruled it out as being “not physically possible.” However, I am here to tell you that in fact it is physically possible…how do I know this as being 100% true? The answer, I have been inside of a clown car and pulled this body contortion act (also known as chinear in Español) in front of all the people in my town. Enough about clowns, it’s time to recapture the scenario that took place one fateful night in Malpaisillo Leon (my site).

The day started like any other, I awoke to my neighbors blasting the “Happy birthday Jam remix CD,” the one where the creepy guy pronounces the word “birthday” as “BIRDday” (in a most disturbing voice). Yes, that is the music I awake to every single morning, it is the bane of my existence. I rolled out of bed and put a pot of water on the stove for coffee, because I don’t function without at least 1 cup of coffee. Next, I finished washing my laundry that I let soak in my “pan” overnight. At 6am, my neighbors came over, glad that I was up, so that they could ask me a very pertinent question “Brigs (not my real name, but sadly that’s what I am known as in my town…close enough I guess),”What are you doing today?” My reply, “It’s Saturday, so I will be cleaning, mopping, etc. etc.” Their faces lit up (almost a little too brightly) and I knew I had roped myself into yet another commitment without even knowing what that commitment entailed. Turns out, they wanted me to cook a pancake breakfast, and later they wanted to cook lunch for me, and we would all finish out the day by going to a disco dance club. The day went by rather quickly; the pancakes were fluffy, golden brown and delicious. Lunch, was a slice of fishy goodness on a plate, fried of course, but good nevertheless. Around 8pm I was informed that we would be leaving in 30 minutes (calculated Nica time: if x=Gringo time of departure, y=Nica time of departure, and z= random variable such as: visitors show up at the front door to talk or maybe a Jehovah witness tries to convert me or better yet the 30 year old man down the street proposes to me, again). Entonces, who needs a mathematical equation to tell me what my gut already knows, we won’t really be leaving in 30 minutes…at the earliest we will be leaving in 1 hour. It’s no big deal, because the disco tech is only 3 blocks down the street from my house, or approximately 3.2 minutes via foot.

One hour and 15 minutes passes by, and I am finally summoned to come outside to leave for the party. That’s when I see it, a 1987 white Toyota sitting in front of my neighbors house, and I think immediately, “Oh no, where are we going?” Turns out my fechenta neighbors, pulled out the car to drive to the disco. I will reiterate the fact that the disco is 3 blocks from my house, yes that is correct, just 3 blocks. They had pulled out their car to go 3 blocks. Now I must admit that this came as only a moderate surprise, because it has happened before. In fact, a week earlier, they pulled out the car to go only two blocks, to the restaurant, Cielo NICA, located around the corner. And 3 weeks prior, they pulled out the car to go to the panadaria that is quite literally 1 block around the corner (and I’m not talking city blocks here, I am talking regular suburban street blocks). Anyway, I played along and got into the car…but not too fast…because there was a crowd surrounding the car…strange, right?…turns out everyone was going for a ride, all 8 of us. My neighbors all started to get into the car and I proceeded forward, to jump in as well, but I was politely held back and told to wait my turn. My turn, turned out to be dead last, because it turns out, I had chosen the short straw, and therefore was going to be “chineared”. I cautiously wiggled one of my legs into the vehicle, next I hunched over and tried to fit into the car (that was already carrying 7 other people). Slowly, carefully, cautiously, I slipped my other leg into the car, now came the difficult part, closing the door. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic, and I thought to myself, good thing we are only going 3 blocks. Stupid, stupid, stupid (I am referring to myself here and not the reader…so please continue…). I should have known, we weren’t going straight to our destination because Saturday night in Malpaisillo is iqual to “cruising night,” shouting out the window a grandiose “ADIOS” and waving to everyone in sight. What a whip (whip= slang for car/cool ride) we were rollin’ on 27 inch chrome colored (although not actual chrome) rims, blasting Los Toros Band, and rockin’ the hydraulics (actually I don’t think the car had any hydraulics but I am pretty sure it was missing a few springs).

Forty-five minutes later, after making 15 laps around town, we finally arrived at the disco (remember the disco is only 3 blocks from my house). My left leg had lost feeling about 30 minutes into the ride and my neck is now permanently angled 15 degrees to the right (due to having been chineard and thus forcing me to hunch my head). And that is how I know, for a fact, with 100% certainty that it is possible to fit numerous clowns into 1 tiny vehicle….

The power line that fell into my house

Cowchildren and Cannibals, represent just another typical English class

¿Que Pasa?

Creepy man avoidance tips: I spend a good portion of everyday trying to avoid potential marriage proposals. Just short, of jumping into bushes, I try to avoid the unwanted creepy man attention like the bubonic plague. However, living in a small town makes it a little difficult to avoid people. Whenever I walk out my front door the next block over knows that I am leaving my house, before I ever round the corner. Yesterday, I stepped out and 2 seconds later Mr. Creepy comes around the corner on his bike. I felt trapped but I always have a backup plan. I walked 4 feet and yelled to my neighbor, who is very aware and sympathetic of my situation. She came out of her house and we pretended like I was just visiting her and that I wasn’t going to go anywhere…I was attempting to wait out Mr. Creepy…eventually he had to go away. He instead rode his bike 15 feet away and awkwardly waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, he gave up and pulled a U-turn to head back to his house. I had won this round and I took off running for the market!

Vaca negra (translation: black cow): This is a delicious ice cream float…and not a cow! Sadly, there is no root beer involved but plenty of Coca Cola and therefore it is vanilla ice cream topped with Coca Cola.

I am falling apart: A few weeks ago, I had one of my tooth fillings fall out, which I can’t get fixed because there is no local transportation. The next day I had a toenail fall off. Finally, I ate food from a local street vendor and I am suffering the consequences…bring on the rehydration salts!

Sin transporte (without transportation): Basically, the whole country is without public transportation right now due to a strike. The strikers want the government to subsidize the rising cost of gasoline. As a result, all buses and taxies are grounded. There have been riots breaking out in the big cities, and from what I have seen on the news it looks a bit chaotic. I am safe in my site, but it looks like I will be stuck in my site for the rest of May. This means that I will not be able to teach at a majority of my schools because I have no way to get to them (as I use both my bike and public transportation to make the trips).

The 1 ring circus

One week ago, the Circo (circus) drove into town. They carted all of their gear in two large caravans decked out in the colors blue, red, and yellow. On the side of one cart was a giant smiling clown face. I knew the instant I looked into those big grinning teeth that I would be going to this circus. He had lured me in and all it took was a ridiculously large crooked tooth payaso(clown) smile. I immediately biked back to my house to tell my neighbors, “The circo is in town.” They seemed a little less thrilled then I was upon my initial reaction, but then again they didn’t get a look at the clown face or all the mesmerizing colors. My neighbor promised that in one weeks time we would go to this circo and I would be able to experience firsthand another truly Nicaraguan event. Flash forward one week, to yesterday, the first rains of the season were washing away the dusty roads. I was hoping that my roof would not leak, and the circo adventure was only hours away. The circo was slated to start at 8pm and so we all left our houses at about 8pm, because the circo was only two blocks away. As we approached the front gate, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafted over the crowd and I was disappointed I had only brought enough money with me for the entrance fee. We purchased out $1 tickets and entered through a dazzling array of curtains. As I walked through the curtains, I could see at once that this was going to be an adventure. This was a 1-ring circus and the bleacher style seating completely surrounded the performance ring. There were 10 rows of “seats” (aka rickety 2x4 plywood that had seen better days), all of which looked to be held up by little more than fraying pieces of rope. In my quick calculation of the possible danger imposed by the rope and decaying wood I felt it would be best to sit on the bottom row closest to the exit. However, my safety assessment was completely ignored and we pranced on up to the tippy-top row stage left, the corner furthest from an exit. As I recalculated my danger assessment, I realized that if this set-up collapsed there would be no getting out (but heck I thought seize the day…these circus people are professionals…right? I am sure they calculated the proper weight dispersion for the arena style seating. All I can say is that I had my toes and figures crossed that no one larger than a small child would sit around our group, thus not pushing the weight capacity over the brink. Across the way, I spotted a rather obese man making his way onto the rafters and I held my breath as he sat down…to my surprise, nothing happened…yet! “On with the show,” the ringmaster blared through her static filled microphone. The first act to come out was a magician, he pulled the old Jesus act by turning rum into water…although as I recall Jesus turned water into wine, which therefore still tops this man’s trick. Why start with rum and make it into water??? What was this guy thinking. Next, he made more water appear out of seemingly nowhere and finished up by making 3 balls appear in a box. This might have been a magnificent show, if I hadn’t seen a Vegas magic act prior to seeing his show. He lacked a bit of showmanship and razzle-dazzle. Next, a pair of payasos (clowns), with wigs made of colorful stringy yarn and typical clown face paint appeared in the center ring. They continued the show by telling some risqué jokes, so far so good. I was waiting for some kind of animal act. I knew they did not have an elephant but I saw some goats outside and figured that later on the goats would make an appearance. However, the goats never showed up nor did any animals for that matter. The rest of my much anticipated circus show was made up of….get ready for it because it certainly surprised me….dancing girls wearing thongs and bras. I would never have seen this coming; the audience was made up of a mix of people. Small children with their parents, boyfriends and girlfriends, adult males and females…if this were a dancing girl show, I would have expected a mostly male audience (and absolutely no children). Now to spread the icing on the cake, the dancing girl in the act also happens to be one of my 14-year-old students. So there she was shakin’ it in the center ring song after song after song. Finally, the shaking ended and the ringmaster entered into the center of the performance space. She announced that there would be one more act. All I could think was, “What next?” Bursting out of the side door entered a man dressed as Spiderman doing some kind of spider flip and scurrying to the top an unsteady scaffold, which was rigged with the same fraying rope that held all of our seats together. Good thing I was a lifeguard 6 years ago because my knowledge in first aid might just come in handy when this guy falls and gets seriously messed up. The music started playing and Spiderman began his unsteady walk across the tightrope. “Now for the famous bicycle trick that only a true artist can perform,” announced the ringmaster. Up went a tiny bike without any handle bars, I deducted that the Spiderman was going to attempt to cross the tightrope via bicycle (funny, I don’t remember Peter Parker every doing any bike riding over large buildings). Right then, the clown stopped short, he looked at the bike and called out that he needed a wrench. Up went the wrench. As he stood over the bike banging on it with the wrench, one can only guess in an attempt to fix the bike, he looked a bit trepidations (and quite honestly who wouldn’t be?). The wrench was then thrown to the ground, missing the head of a fellow circus performer by a mere 2 inches. The other performer didn’t even flinch and the show was about to go on. I knew this was a bad idea. No one else seemed to be saying anything. He placed his mini-bike on the rope again to perform the trick and then he looked down and to my surprise decided not to perform the trick. He signaled the ringmaster yet again, and she announced that tonight the trick would not be performed. Thank goodness, because I didn’t feel like seeing Spiderman fall off his mini-bike. That was the end of the show. I don’t think I will be going to another circo, seeing one of my students dancing was quite enough to keep me away. Also, the entire time I was at the circo my stalker, who had followed me to the event, sat across the ring staring at me. Moreover, the chance that the seating area could have collapsed at any moment is a risk I am only willing to take once. However, as always, it was a sight to be seen and an experience to be had.

La gente de Malpaisillo

My neighbor is a nurse practitioner, although she could be the next pied piper, and this past weekend she decided to hold a party for all the niños (children) in the neighborhood. For the niños this party was not a typical fiesta. Rather it was a dubious way of luring children into a trap, which they could not escape once the realized the true nature of the “fiesta.” I will explain. At 6 am on Sunday, which is normally a peaceful and quite day, I awoke not to the sound of the roosters or even the familiar chime of my alarm clock but instead to a mild earthquake. The walls of my house were vibrating. Was a volcano erupting…what the heck was going on? Should I run for cover under a doorframe? There was no need to run for cover. The earthquake I was experiencing was no natural disaster, because the quaking was in fact emerging out of two 4x6 foot black speakers that rested tentatively on my front stoop. My stoop had morphed into the “DJ’s booth.” Except, this DJ didn’t take requests. Instead, he was playing the popular organ grinding, get down and party, birthday CD. How I dread the ubiquitous birthday remix CD, and even though I spend every morning listening to the CD, thanks to neighbors several houses away, normally I do not have to listen to the CD as my house quakes to the beat. To add to the effect, the DJ would make random announcements between song breaks. At 7:30am the bolo (drunk) on the corner even came over to make an announcement (although I couldn’t understand a bumbling word he said). By 7am a balloon tunnel had been built to the left of my front door, so that children and adults could pass underneath it’s ark as they walked into the backyard. So far, the scene was looking very convincing. It was identical to a typical piñata party. There were balloons, annoying squeaky music, soda and candy but one very important thing was missing from this scene: a birthday girl/boy. My neighbors do not have any kids…so what was going on? Well, as the children who passed under the golden ark of balloons soon discovered, this was no fiesta, oh no, it was vaccination day!! The music was being played at top volume to drown out the cries of the children in the backyard who had walked unexpectedly into a piñata party ruse. Instead, of taking a few whacks at a Strawberry Shortcake shaped piñata, the children got a shot in the behind. It’s a cruel, cruel world when children are deceived into believing a fiesta will take place and instead receive shots. I have noticed that fewer children frequent my house now, and I believe it is because they no longer trust my neighbor. The “fiesta” of shots ended at 3pm that same day.

The curtain of mystery

I just started teaching English classes, because I have had numerous requests. I normally turn down people because they tend to be 20-year-old men who only want “classes” in order to be invited into my house and spend time with me. After weeding through all the requests, I picked out the people that truly want to learn and study. That being said, my first class was a rude awakening for my students, because I informed them that the class would be held ALL in English. This scared and intimidated them at first. They all have a basic background in the English language, as they studied English in school. I told them they should watch TV in English. The popular movie choice for everyone in Scarface and for music they enjoy a good Celin Dion classic. We discussed cowboys, and one of my students said, “And what about the cowchildren?” “The cow children,” I responded, “I am not quite sure I understand you.” Well, turns out my students thought cowboy only referred to older male cowboys and therefore the word cowchildren would refer to the kids. I set the record straight, and told them cowboy and cowgirl are all encompassing words and that the word cowchildren does not exist (at least to my knowledge). Another one of my students said, “I eat people.” “What??” I cried. I was a bit taken aback by this comment. Luckily, everyone in my class has a working knowledge of the Hannibal Lector movies, and I explained that eating people would make them a cannibal just like Hannibal Lector. They all understood this and realized that the phrase was missing a key word. My student meant to say, “I eat with people.” Of course, we all make mistakes and other times things are just lost in translation.

My friends and I sitting in the top bleacher seats

No it’s no Idaho potato, mainly because it is not from Idaho and well, it’s no spud. But quite frankly, I have tired of eating rice and beans, day in and day out, and so yesterday I sought to expand my horizons while not emptying my wallet. I went to my local market and there it was in all its glory: Yucca (although when I order yucca I prefer to point to it because the word yucca is also a slang word for a certain part of the male anatomy). Sitting in a large straw basket on the side of the curb, with pigs and street dogs sniffing around but not bothering to even take a nibble; lay pounds and pounds of yucca. Well, the animals may not find it worthy of their sophisticated pallet, but gosh darn it I was hungry and I thought I would go for it. I told my local yucca vendor that I just wanted a little bit…she repeated, “Just a few cords then” and I said that would be fine. Two seconds later, I see her piling a ton of yucca into an unmarked thin black plastic bag, which would undoubtedly break on my way home from the market due to the heavy weight of its contents. For what looked and felt like, at least, a few pounds of yucca, I only forked over 2 cords…2 CORDS!! Now, that’s a steal of a deal. I double bagged my purchase (with a bag I had brought from home) because I have played this game before. A street vendor fills thin bag too full and then my bag breaks halfway between my house and the market. Inevitably, all of my neighbors find out what occurred and remark what a shame. Then they tell me not to worry. All I have to do is wash the produce that just fell into the black nasty street water and it will edible. That is just asking to get sick; the two-second rule just does not apply when food is dropped into street water. Anyway, I have learned from my past mistakes and sicknesses. Although, I had to make the same mistake about 4 times before I learned to bring another bag to create the sturdy double bag. Therefore, I started towards my house, hungry as could be, lunch approaching quickly, ready to throw that yucca into a boiling pot of water. Well, here’s another lesson learned, turns out yucca takes a good 30 to 60 minutes to cook through until it becomes soft and edible. My patience was tested, I was on the brink of just eating the yucca half cooked (but realized this was not a viable solution). So I waited it out. Finally, the yucca was ready! I served it up with some lentjas (lentals) and veggies and wada ya know, I had a guiso (stew), I devoured the sweet yucca goodness and determinedly decided that next time I wanted to cook yucca, I would be more prepared. The next day, I had a hankering for some more yucca, just like eating Pringles, “once you pop you just can’t stop”. However, I didn’t feel like waiting a full 30 to 60 minutes for the yucca to cook. I opted to go to the pre-cooked yucca vendor in town. Now, I had never purchased solely yucca from this woman, usually I buy the soup, only 25 cords, and the yucca comes in the soup. However, the yucca is cooked in a separate batch and is added to the soup mix after the soup is ordered. I just figured that I could purchase the yucca sin sopa (without soup). Turns out, that was a no go. Her voice echoed out, “No,” and an image of Seinfeld’s“soup Nazi” flashed into my head. I was refused flat out, “No Yucca for you.” The best pre-cooked yucca (in fact the ONLY pre-cooked yucca in town) and she wouldn’t sell it to me. I tried to reason, I said, “I will pay the same price I would pay for a bowl of soup.” However, with my bad Spanish I probably more likely sounded more like a caveman and said something that more closely resembles, “Soup good, uh yucca better, pay soup, give me yucca.” With my keen business sense, I tried to further reason with the vendor. I explained, once again using caveman jargon, that she would be making even more money off me because she would actually save soup. I was hoping it would come to papelografo (poster paper), but unfortunately my desperation set in and I whipped out a pre-prepped diagram of cost versus savings to demonstrate my point. Hey, no judgments, I’m a business volunteer and I draw diagrams in my sleep, it’s an innate characteristic (I also wear a pocket protector and carry around a TI-83). But her answer was the same, as she uttered a stout reply, “No.” No… no?? The same in Spanish and English, I understood perfectly, it just wasn’t going to happen and I should just throw in the towel. Faced with defeat, I walked away long faced, sad and whimpering like a puppy. On the verge of ETing (Early Termination from PC), because the soup lady denied me yucca, I was ready to pack my bags and jump the next flight out. Instead of leaving, I decided to opt for the second best option: Gallo Pinto (rice and beans). Yes, I walked down the block and bought myself some pre-cooked gallo pinto and ate it while wallowing in my own misery and sorrow. My tears of sadness served to salt my cuisine because I had failed to buy queso (a mistake I have only made once) in all this commotion and distraught.

Spiderman and clown preforming acts that defy death