If I had picked any other item to carry – the bottled water, the extra virgin olive oil, the avocados – I probably wouldn’t have found myself walking up and down the block rapidly scanning for a trashcan like a crazy person. There was never a trashcan nearby when you desperately needed one. Never. Which is why I found myself, swallowing my pride and walking right up to an innocent shop owner, offering up one question in broken Spanish along with two handfuls of crunchy disappointment.
Let me back up.
It took me two days in Mexico City before I found a grocery store – or more accurately – a mini market, that was walking distance from my apartment. So I did what any person with a rumbling stomach and a barren kitchen would do: I loaded up.
As I was dragging my overfilled basket-cart hybrid down the narrow aisle, I spotted the tortilla section. That was a hell sí from me. I grabbed a pack of soft-shell tortillas and some of those crunchy, hard-shell tostadas, perfectly packaged in a plastic bag, tied at the top with a ribbon. Then, for good measure, I threw in some refried beans. Perfecto.
As the clerk was ringing me up, I realized it wasn’t going to be an easy trip home. I added one of those reusable bags to my pile of loot, the kind they keep right by the register for non-planners like me. I stuffed the canvas bag to the brim, shoved some items into my purse, slid a jam-packed bag onto either shoulder, and grabbed the one product that wouldn’t quite fit. The tostadas. I’d carry them home. Give them the VIP treatment.
I walked out of the mini market, took about three confident steps, and, right as a woman was walking towards me from the other direction (of course), the plastic tostada bag inexplicably broke open, shattering twelve hard shell tortillas onto the otherwise pristine sidewalk.
“!Ay Diós!” muttered the woman, who kept right on walking.
“Shit!” said I.
I looked down at the salty pile of corn-based chaos. I couldn’t just leave it there. That felt wrong. So I got down, all the way down, on my knees, awkwardly balancing the full bags on my arms as I picked up the infinite pieces of tostada shells. One by one.
So far, so good. So far, I am blending in. So far, I am…crushing it. Crushing all twelve serving sizes of it. Piling them into two oversized handfuls, standing back up, and crab walking down the street to look for a trashcan.
I walked to one end of the block, a bag on either arm, a stack of broken chips in each hand.
Nothing.
I walked to the other end of the block, a bag on either arm, a stack of broken chips in each hand, a bead of sweat on my forehead.
Nada.
This is when I started to laugh. Like one of those people you’d cross the street to avoid.
I laughed, and I scanned further down the street. Nope. This made me laugh harder.
Then, I spotted my target. Poised just inside the little taco restaurant across the street from the market, stood a seductive black trashcan. Bingo.
I crossed the street and headed towards it, but the shop owner saw me approaching, the crazy girl, meeting me on the sidewalk before I could step inside.
I cleared my throat. “Hola.” A pause. Then in clumsy Spanish, “Can I put this in your trashcan?” I held up my two handfuls of tortillas just in case she wasn’t sure what I meant by “this”.
She sighed, taking pity on me. “Yes, but not that one. It’s in the back. Here, let me.” She reached out her hands, like the patron saint of fallen foodstuffs, and I awkwardly passed her the two broken piles of tostadas. She dutifully grabbed them and headed to the back.
Muchas gracias, I called after her. She didn’t answer.
I should have stayed and bought something, but my cheeks were burning red and to buy a taco would’ve meant putting myself in the same situation I was in before. I turned and headed back towards my apartment, where I could laugh at myself in peace.
If there was one thing to walk away with, it might be that traveling requires embarrassing yourself, over and over, and that’s not such a bad thing for building up your self-esteem.
And if there was one thing not to walk away with, in retrospect, it would have definitely been the tostadas.
