Tonia and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Tonia

After spending a month in Rosarito, Mexico, with two girlfriends and our five dogs, the day came to drive home. I crammed all my personal belongings, house-keeping items, dog bedding, souvenirs and two gooberhead dogs into my overfilled car and headed to Tecate where I hoped for an uneventful border crossing and drive home. The month had had its challenges so I didn’t need an exciting trek to add to my life story. 

Thirty minutes into my drive I got pulled over for a “random” search by the Mexican police (Fun Fact: that’s the kind of police they have in Mexico). Terrified, my stifled nervous giggle wanted to turn into crazed laughter when one of the policemen leaned into my car with his butt in the air. My contorted facial expressions somehow drew suspicions and I ended up also getting my purse searched. Satisfied I wasn’t an aging American drug lord, they waved me on my way.

 

Using my GPS, I continued my journey and arrived in the town of Tecate where I hoped to find the line for the border crossing. Now, let me say, GPS and I have not always had the best relationship. I don’t like her nagging and bossing. And, on this day, Hansel and Gretel could have done a better job navigating. She demanded I turn down a one-way street IN THE WRONG DIRECTION where I was IMMEDIATELY met by yes, again, the Mexican police. In my panic, I started to flash my boobs to escape trouble and infuse some humor, but was boob-blocked by the damn seatbelt. They said I owed a $125 fine and had to go to the police station. I objected and the dogs nodded their heads in agreement with me. The police didn’t speak English or canine but they knew they were outnumbered and finally waved me on my way. 

 

I crossed the border into the USA thinking my worries were over. Wrong. I drove through a blinding snow/sleet storm in the mountains, blustering, car-shaking winds in the desert, and five lanes of hellish you’re-never-going-to-get-home-in-time-for-dinner traffic. That bumper-to-bumper traffic became my bumper ON bumper. The driver in front of me slammed on his brakes so fast that I crashed into him and then the driver behind me crashed into me. Our three-car pile-up left my RAV4 like an accordion. When the Arizona police arrived (yet ANOTHER run-in with the law) I realized the damages were more than duct tape could fix. 

Enter the tow truck driver who loaded us up and dropped us off on the curb of a car rental lot - me, the dogs, a mountain of suitcases, sacks, blankets, dog beds, dog food, metal art, cleaning supplies and ….. my VACUUM. Waiting for my rental, I resembled a homeless woman looking for a janitorial job. 

 

It was then when the dogs did their intervention. They looked me square in the eyes and told me this day had been my odyssey (they’re familiar with great works of literature); I had survived twenty-first century cyclops, lotus-eaters, shipwrecks, and whirlpools. They said I had passed the Universe’s tests and it was time to GO HOME. So I waved myself on my own damn way and drove that rental car like a motherfucker ‘til I arrived in Ithaca ….. otherwise known as Santa Fe (home). 

For your next girlfriends' get together I'd suggest an Amtrak trip.