Quick note to my mother: DON’T READ THIS!!
Okay… now that that is out of the way…
Another quick note: this is a story about my young stupid past. In no way am I supporting this type of behavior AT ALL! In fact… I hope the story discourages other young people from being as STUPID as I was!
It was spring time and my college buddies and I decided to go on a spring break trip to Padre Island. unfortunately… we decided to do this A WEEK before our spring break! Every hotel worth its salt had already been booked for months. So we had to settle for this cruddy motel in Port Aransas which was about 15 miles outside of Corpus Christi.
After an over eight hour drive we finally arrived at our motel where they more than likely made snuff films and promptly decided after dropping off our luggage that we wanted to make the short trek to Mexico to kick off our spring break.
Our motel. Looks rather homey doesn’t it?
The inside of our motel room. What?
The town we focused our attention on was a border town right south of Brownsville, TX called Matamoras.
I need to point out that when I told my parents that I was taking this trip… they requested only one thing: “DO NOT GO INTO MEXICO”! But, as it is with most 20-year-olds, I lacked the ability to tell what was REAL concern passing through the lips of my parents… and I didn’t listen. The draw of being able to legally drink at age 20 was too much of a temptation for me.
Once we crossed over the bridge and made it past all the legless peddlers selling Chicklets for a dollar our eyes met all the little bars and clubs littered on the main boardwalk. With our new-found power and without the fear of being underage we were uninhibited even walking by the Mexican police and their AK-47’s into these dives and drank ourselves silly.
It’s amazing how many opportunities there are to waste a dollar in Mexico. We paid to have our picture taken. We paid for one of those silly sombreros. We even paid a dollar to get ourselves electrically shocked by this one dude… it was ridiculous. If you wanted to contract some flesh-eating disease… you could even get a tattoo! Thankfully, I had enough wits about me not to get tattooed in Mexico.
As the night went on we found ourselves in a pretty good crowd of American spring-breakers all coming across the border to go to some of the clubs. We grew tired of the overcrowded Matamoras scene and decided to drive to Padre Island. We exited the club we were in and started to walk back to the bridge that crossed back to our homeland. As some inebriated strolls go… we kept getting hung up in conversations with other Americans, pause to take pictures with random strangers or being stopped by peddlers trying to sell shrunken heads.
As I had “broken the seal” sometime earlier, it wasn’t long before mother nature was making her call on me again.
I had to go to the bathroom.
This was a problem because every club and bar had a huge line in front of it. There was no way I was going to wait in line AND pay a cover JUST to go to the bathroom.
So I ducked into (what I thought was) a fairly secluded area and let it go.
When I was finished, I zipped up then turned around and was met by two Mexican police.
I nervously smirked but they weren’t laughing.
“You can’t do that,” one of them said in broken English.
“Are you peeing on my street? Don’t make me shoot your ass!”
I suddenly could clearly remember the stories I had heard about Americans going to Mexican jails and what horrible times they had. I hadn’t realized the severity of my actions and perhaps thought that since I was in Mexico… I would have to do something much worse than public urination.
This probably would have been true if I wasn’t peeing on the sidewalk. I clearly wasn’t in my right mind as I emptied my bladder.
I apologized fervently. I kept saying, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I said this the whole time with my hand on my wallet. I had heard that you could buy out the Mexican police.
“Okay… you can go but next time you go to Mexican jail!” one of them said as he adjusted his rifle.
They then parted and let me pass between them unscathed. I hurried to my group and told them we needed to get out of here.
My group had been oblivious to what had happened. I could have been carted off, against my will, to film the real life version of “Mexico Chainsaw Massacre” and they would’ve still been trying to talk the guy down from selling his sombrero from $10 to $8!
We eventually made it back over the bridge and through the legless peddlers to American soil where peeing in public will undoubtedly get you arrested… but more than likely without the fear of getting murdered too.
It wasn’t until looking back on this several years later that I realized how close I was to never being heard from again.
Matamoras ain’t safe AT ALL. It’s a border town full of crime.
I read an article about Matamoras not to long ago that sent a shiver through my spine. It was an article about college kids that were being kidnapped by FAKE COPS in Matamoras EXACTLY around the same time I was approached for peeing in public! These fake cops would target male, blond-haired college students. Once they had them under “arrest”, they would drive them out to the middle of nowhere and sacrifice them in satanic rituals. Once the sacrifice was over, they would wear the kids spinal cords as a necklace in future rituals.
Those cops that approached me… might not have been cops at all.
Someone was watching over me.