During our 14-hour bus ride from Cancun to Villahermosa, Mexico we made two stops in which we were able to get off. The first of the stops was a routine stop with the voluntary option to step off the bus to get food and to use the restroom. The second stop was not like the first in any way, because getting off was not a voluntary option, you were selected to step off. Being selected was not like being selected to win the lottery. Remember back to elementary school recess when you would play kick ball and everybody would line up and two captains would start selecting teams. The thoughts going trough your head as people are being picked; “I do not want to be on that team with nerdy kids because they suck at kickball. What if the girl sees me play and they make me look bad. She will think that I suck at kickball when really I am the kickball world champion and hold the record for most career homeruns* and furthest homerun ever kicked.” The only difference in this situation is that you are being selected by Mexican Federally with huge machine guns and not little, unauthentic nerdy kids.
The Federally begin randomly check passengers papers and select one Mexican guy for their team and instruct him to bring all his belongings. At this point Tara and I are in a little bit of shock after being on a bus for about 10 hours; and now men with guns are on the bus pulling people off searching them. They continue to check papers and then another Federally steps back on after speaking to the bus driver and gives me the flashlight in the face signal letting me know that I have been selected for their team. My first reaction is resistance as I look behind me as if he is pointing at the guy behind which at that point I knew no one was seated there. So I get another flash in the eyes and reluctantly I get up and step off the bus. When my feet hit the dirt I looked up and standing there are 3 Federally decked out in their urban assault gear with the bus light reflecting intimidatingly off of their massive guns. Then with my superior Spanish knowledge (joke) I make out the bus driver tell the 3 that “he has on the wrong pants.” They tell me to get back on the bus, which I do with haste and sit back down.
When I get back on they are speaking to another white dude about smoking cigarettes on the bus and possibly other illegal substances. Comes to find out that he was from Germany and coincidently I was born there and that is stated very clearly on my passport. So in this little Mexican town between Cancun and Villahermosa I will be forever linked to a possible drug smoking German, however, if you wear the right pants you might be able to get away with whatever you want.
*(Record was set without the use of steroids; Kickball World Almanac 1991)
