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MotherStucker’s Mexican Prison

As my first ever trip to Mexico approached, I made 3 rules for myself in regards to my time south of the border.

1. I do not want to go to a Mexican Prison.
2. I do not want to go to a Mexican Hospital.
3. I do not want to participate in any activities which might lead to an excursion at a Mexican Prison and/or a Mexican Hospital.

330190_2664651787995_1718323632_oAs the plane touched down on Mexican soil, my travel entourage foursome began to make plans for the day. Mr. MotherStucker and I were enjoying time away from our OtherStuckers with another couple possessing an equally funny last name*. As a group we decided the boys would go play golf at the resort while my fellow Mother* friend and I would take the rental car in search of a nearby grocery –or retail therapy – whichever we were to encounter first.

My excitement to be in Mexico for the first time was palpable. In the spirit of the occasion I had put on my most festive dress. I was colorful and cool in my (tiny) cotton dress as I also had made the decision earlier in the day to go commando. Don’t judge me. Mexico is hot!

THUD! An extremely loud noise echoed through our microscopic Mexican rental car. Thud…Thud…Thud…Thud. MotherStucker! We blew a tire on the highway and immediately began searching for a place to pullover. Concrete walls lined the 4 lane road with only one break visible ¼ mile ahead. The area was sketchy at best and I began to wonder what sort of building we would be stuck in front of and for how long.

As we coasted off the highway onto the dirt road’s building entrance I panicked. The next several hours aren’t good. So not good in fact that my mind has blocked a large portion of the experience.…This is what I know for sure.
I am stranded at a Mexican Prison with my fellow female traveler.

I promised myself I would not go to a Mexican Prison. There were only 3 rules!

Yo no hablo español.

No calling or texting possible on our phones as we were ‘too busy’ to secure an international calling card before leaving home.

Prison guards with machine guns pointed at us.

Tears.

Promises to God I will change a few things moving forward.

Sweaty everywhere.

Sunburnt.

No hub cap key in the rental. We are unarmed and unable to change the tire ourselves.

This is a shi**y trip.

My only option for a rescue is an unmarked car that has shown up hours later at the entrance to the Mexican Prison. The driver of the car doesn’t speak English but points to the rental car company folder I’m death gripping to my chest, then points to himself. He walks to his own equally microscopic vehicle and gestures for us to get in with him.

We did.

I prayed. A lot.

More tears.

Upon arriving at the rental car company building I launch myself at the first English speaking employee I hear/see to explain we need help! I thank our rescuer to the best of my ability and continue to sob as we receive a new rental car. I nickname this new rental, “shoe” because for my remaining Mexican Vacation I keep mixing it up with my other shoes, as it is approximately the same size.

Meanwhile, back at the resort the boys are finishing up 36 holes of golf. As my gal pal and I explain what we have been up to, our hubbies faces fall into despair. They knew at that moment that they were never going to hear the end of it…

Luckily, I never ended up at a Mexican Hospital. At least, not on this trip.

*Name have been withheld for witness protection purposes. Trust me, even weirder than Stucker. Bless her heart.