Mexican Bus Drivers Demand Tips for the Ride From Hell: Mexico City’s union of “Pesero” bus drivers are demanding tips for taking their riders on the ride of their lives. Pesero bus drivers are renowned for serving up cheap thrills and dangerous spills. In fact, the spread of American television has caused Mexico City’s youth to demand to “go to Disneyland.” In response, Mexico City parents have duped their children into believing that the Pesero is in fact run by Mickey Mouse, and the kids are eating it up (until they die in a fiery crash).
Union leaders are demanding tips, in part to cover “driver training.” Each Pesero driver must undergo a rigorous 50-hour training program, the last 2 minutes of which is the official Pesero driving test, in which the driver-to-be must kill at least one person to pass.
Disclaimer: yadda yadda yadda. I made this up.
But seriously. Tips for being shitty? Next thing you know, I’m supposed to tip the burger joint for giving me food poisoning and the chick from Supercuts for giving me a faux-hawk and the Metro for giving me whiplash.
So on Monday, I was walking to the Metro (boy, do I have a lot to say about the Metro) and it was raining. Picture this. It’s Monday and I’m off to another day of work. I head off toward the dreaded Metro. I’m wearing my messenger bag. I’m carrying some papers in my left arm. I’m carrying my cane/umbrella in my right hand. I take one step and . . . my right foot sweeps into the air; my face contorts with the pain of someone who is trying to regain her balance but realizes that it just ain’t happening; I reach my left foot out, hoping to regain a balance that has already been hopelessly lost; in an effort to regain balance, I am now parallel to the ground; umbrella flies in the air; I land with a thud on the cold, wet concrete. My body contorts, as my ass thankfully lands on my messenger bag, saving me the humiliation of walking to work with a dirty ass. Although I feel immense pain, I immediately jolt up, hoping, praying in fact, that no one saw this ultimate display of all things not graceful.
Someone behind me says those words you never want to hear . . . “Oh my god. Are you okay?”
Note to self. Next time I see someone fall, just ignore him/her. Unless the fallee (I’m a lawyer and it’s my job to make up words) is (a) screaming Bloody Mary; (b) bleeding profusely; (c) passed out; or (d) there is an audible crack — just move on. The humiliation is too much to bear. Even if you have to physically step over the fallee, do NOT say, “Are you okay?” S/he is okay. Until you say that. So shut the hell up and move on.
Oh, and for all you lawyers out there. My file of papers was safe. Thank god. They were originals. Note to self. Don’t take home originals, you fucking moron.