The last envelope was my passport. There, now you no longer have to anxiously wait to hear the outcome. With the passport gripped in my hands, I started jumping up and down, a huge grin on my face, and feeling unbelievably relieved. The lady laughed at my over the top reaction. I thanked her a good 20 times, and then left.
I had one more errand to complete before I could lie in my hotel all day, watching CNN (the only channel in English) until it got too depressing and I switched to whatever Spanish movie was on. Probably the highlight of my TV watching experience over my three days being sick at the hotel was watching Matilda. That brought me back... I thought that movie was the bees knees back when it first came out.
The last errand I had to complete was retrieving the wire transfer that my friend had sent me a few days earlier. Wire transfers through Western Union from the States to Mexico are, in theory, extremely simple to complete. You can go to a number of locations all over the US (like grocery stores) and simply j the bank employee to whom you wish to send the money, how much you wish to send, and where the recipient is located. Then, all the recipient needs to do is head to almost any bank in Mexico and ask for the money after showing ID.
This time, I had an ID. Granted, emergency passports look like they were forged with minimal effort by some college kid in his parents' basement. The font on the front is significantly larger than a regular passport, it only contains about three pages, and the photo looked like it was hastily placed on with a glue stick.
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| At least my new picture was better? |
I felt confident that with my official ID, getting the transfer would be a piece of cake. But wait, remember how my trip was going up until that moment? Yeah... not so great. I left the passport place and walked next door to one of the banks. I specifically told the lady by the front door that I needed to pick up a wire transfer from the US when she asked me how she could help. She said that would be no problem and told me to take a number like you do at the DMV. I waited for 20-ish minutes and got called to the counter where the lady there told me they don't do Western Union wire transfers. I left in a huff, walked to the other bank literally next door (because it's so logical to have two banks side by side) I asked if they did Western Union transfers and the guy said no, but to try four other banks nearby. He wrote them on a piece of paper, and I hopped in a cab to the first on the list.
The man drove me to the bank, located inside of a department store selling bikes, mattresses, etc. I came to discover later that most banks are inside of department stores. Why? No idea. I waited in another fairly long line (but at that point in my trip, I was accustomed to long lines) until I was called to the counter. I asked the man if I could pick up a Western Union wire transfer and he said of course, I just had to show the confirmation number and my ID. I showed him a picture of the top part of the receipt that my friend who wired the money sent me. He sent me just the top part of the receipt because that was where the confirmation code was printed. The man entered he entered the code into his computer and said it was the wrong number of digits and that I needed to call my friend and ask him to take a picture of the entire receipt. The receipt was so long it took four pictures to capture the whole thing. I showed it to the man and he just shook his head, saying it was impossible. Of course.
Off to the next bank. This one was hidden in another huge store selling phones, furniture, and other random items. On the wall behind the bank counter was a sign that said Western Union, so of course they would be able to help me, right? No. I experienced deja vu as the EXACT same thing happened at this bank as the one prior.
My energy all but spent, I headed over to the last bank on the list. I asked a saleslady where the bank was, and she told me it was on the very top level. Of course it was. There was no elevator (plus I have an irrational fear of elevators), so I walked up multiple flights of stairs to the top. After I'd ascended the last set of stairs, my legs felt wobbly and I imagine I looked like a newborn giraffe as it learns to walk as I headed to the bank.
This time, there was no line. I walked right up to a lady at the counter, asked about the transfer and showed her my passport. I asked if she needed to see the code and she said no, and in less than five minutes she handed me the money.
I'm pretty confident that those other bank employees were completely incompetent. It certainly didn't seem like an extensive or difficult process at all at the final bank. But of course, it was the last bank I went to that I finally got help.
I exited the line, and right then it hit me. I had spent the last little drops of energy and needed to rest. Thankfully, the top level of the store was the furniture section, with little fake bedrooms set up as well as kitchens. It was very Ikea-esque. I waked to the closest fake bedroom and collapsed on the bed. I lied there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rapiest of all Christmas carols, "Baby, It's Cold Outside," followed by "All I want for Christmas is You." Eventually, I regained enough strength to descend the stairs, hail a cab, and head back to the hotel.
I took a nice, long nap and upon waking I figured I should probably try to eat. However, I was terrified at the idea of leaving my hotel room, as something bad was bound to happen if I attempted to do anything at all. But I needed some grub, and I finally had a voracious appetite, so I walked down to the hotel restaurant and stuffed my face with a burger. Not too long after, I puked it up. Lesson learned: start with basic foods before jumping from nothing to one of the heaviest foods out there.
Of course, it was a mistake to have left my room. I should have ordered room service. When I ventured back to my room, I realized the key didn't work. The front desk dude "fixed it" and so I walked back and tried again with no luck. I repeated this process one more time, and it still didn't work, so the front desk guy called maintenance and sent them to my room. I sat in the hallway across from my door, simply waiting in my state of exhaustion. After a good long while, the maintenance man came and changed the batteries for the lock thingy because of course, I got the room with the lock filled with dying batteries. I went inside, threw up the rest of my burger, and went to bed for about 16 hours, hardly able to grasp the fact that tomorrow, I'd be back in Colorado.
The man drove me to the bank, located inside of a department store selling bikes, mattresses, etc. I came to discover later that most banks are inside of department stores. Why? No idea. I waited in another fairly long line (but at that point in my trip, I was accustomed to long lines) until I was called to the counter. I asked the man if I could pick up a Western Union wire transfer and he said of course, I just had to show the confirmation number and my ID. I showed him a picture of the top part of the receipt that my friend who wired the money sent me. He sent me just the top part of the receipt because that was where the confirmation code was printed. The man entered he entered the code into his computer and said it was the wrong number of digits and that I needed to call my friend and ask him to take a picture of the entire receipt. The receipt was so long it took four pictures to capture the whole thing. I showed it to the man and he just shook his head, saying it was impossible. Of course.
Off to the next bank. This one was hidden in another huge store selling phones, furniture, and other random items. On the wall behind the bank counter was a sign that said Western Union, so of course they would be able to help me, right? No. I experienced deja vu as the EXACT same thing happened at this bank as the one prior.
My energy all but spent, I headed over to the last bank on the list. I asked a saleslady where the bank was, and she told me it was on the very top level. Of course it was. There was no elevator (plus I have an irrational fear of elevators), so I walked up multiple flights of stairs to the top. After I'd ascended the last set of stairs, my legs felt wobbly and I imagine I looked like a newborn giraffe as it learns to walk as I headed to the bank.
 |
| Me. |
This time, there was no line. I walked right up to a lady at the counter, asked about the transfer and showed her my passport. I asked if she needed to see the code and she said no, and in less than five minutes she handed me the money.
I'm pretty confident that those other bank employees were completely incompetent. It certainly didn't seem like an extensive or difficult process at all at the final bank. But of course, it was the last bank I went to that I finally got help.
I exited the line, and right then it hit me. I had spent the last little drops of energy and needed to rest. Thankfully, the top level of the store was the furniture section, with little fake bedrooms set up as well as kitchens. It was very Ikea-esque. I waked to the closest fake bedroom and collapsed on the bed. I lied there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rapiest of all Christmas carols, "Baby, It's Cold Outside," followed by "All I want for Christmas is You." Eventually, I regained enough strength to descend the stairs, hail a cab, and head back to the hotel.
I took a nice, long nap and upon waking I figured I should probably try to eat. However, I was terrified at the idea of leaving my hotel room, as something bad was bound to happen if I attempted to do anything at all. But I needed some grub, and I finally had a voracious appetite, so I walked down to the hotel restaurant and stuffed my face with a burger. Not too long after, I puked it up. Lesson learned: start with basic foods before jumping from nothing to one of the heaviest foods out there.
Of course, it was a mistake to have left my room. I should have ordered room service. When I ventured back to my room, I realized the key didn't work. The front desk dude "fixed it" and so I walked back and tried again with no luck. I repeated this process one more time, and it still didn't work, so the front desk guy called maintenance and sent them to my room. I sat in the hallway across from my door, simply waiting in my state of exhaustion. After a good long while, the maintenance man came and changed the batteries for the lock thingy because of course, I got the room with the lock filled with dying batteries. I went inside, threw up the rest of my burger, and went to bed for about 16 hours, hardly able to grasp the fact that tomorrow, I'd be back in Colorado.
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