Street vendors who do not create a public nuisance (26USC1400E)

I've been in Mexico for almost a year, and yet, I have written very little about cultural differences, as I normally tend to discuss in my blogs. Part of the lack of the observations comes from the fact that Tijuana, being on the border, is quite Americanized. I actually get to speak Spanish a lot, but many Tijuanenses are happy to switch to English when you are struggling linguistically, as I discovered when we had issues with our Internet service. After I spent a grueling 15 minutes talking my way around computer terms I didn't know in order to explain the problem to a technician, he looked me dead in the eye and asked, in accent-free English: "So your computer recognizes the network but won't connect?" Consequently, I still don't know the Spanish word for modem.

Another reason for the dearth of personal insights is that it's only fun if the cultural nuances are worth complaining about, and generally, they're not. Driving in Mexico is drastically different than in the States; in fact, I have to remind myself once I cross the border that I'm "California drivin'." But frankly, I like the way Mexicans drive, and I say that even after being in a fender-bender. Their roadway motto could be: Go, as long as you aren't going to hit anybody or anything. Stop lights and signs are merely suggestions, blown at will when no one else is in the area. Lanes switch between turn and straight depending on the needs of traffic. The only exception is their ability to merge. In low-speed situations, there's no problem -- drivers graciously let other nose in -- but when it comes to the highway, there is no concept of matching the flow of traffic -- they will turn in without adequate space to get up to speed or, even worse, flat-out refuse to accelerate even though cars are barreling down on them.

But to be honest, what is most interesting about operating a motor vehicle in Mexico isn't the other drivers, but the other people on or in the roads. I'm sure most people know that while waiting in the border line, you can buy just about anything from your car window: coffee, clamatos, churros, burritos, tamales, tortas, and respadas. You can even call and place an order for duty-free liquor, cigarettes, and perfume. Of course, the the local "products" are more interesting purchases; frequently seen items include Mexican flags, Xolo jersies, and Last Supper paintings.

But street-side vendors can be found at every mass of cars in the city, not just in the border line. At any given intersection, a woman with a baby strapped to her chest weaves between bumpers to peddle magazines, Trident, and candy. Another crossroads staple is the local produce of the season, including nopal, strawberries, and tangerines. By far, though, the salespeople that most catch my eye are the ones on "puppy row," which springs up on Sundays in whelping season along one of the main roads to our neighborhood. The only way I can resist their pitiful pitches is to avoid eye contact.

Others pound the pavement offering services instead of goods. When puppy row isn't in full swing, the street is lined with makeshift signs advertising all manner of handymen, from electricians to plumbers, willing to follow you to your breaking-down house. Other entrepreneurs know that cars are like home to some people, so hoards of men show up with smudged cloths hoping to wipe the dirt off windshields (or spread it around, at least). But the prize for calle capitalismo goes to the agents at the border who can sell you car insurance and even print out your policy car-side right before you enter the States.

Some services target a less results-oriented consumer. The boulevard buskers comprise diverse nationalities and talents. Backpacking youths from the States and Europe perform dance routines by twirling balls and tossing hoops that go well with their dusty dreads and baggy pants. Hopeful migrants from Central America inexpertly juggle tennis balls and blow fire, to the point that you want to pay them to stop. But the ultimate busker has become a local, if he wasn't to begin with, considering how long he has been known around town. The word on the street, literally, is that he's been busting a move as Michael Jackson, complete with the signature sparkly glove and smooth moonwalk, at the same streetlight for years.

The people who seem to get passed the most pesos, though, are the charity cases. The Mexican equivalents of the Salvation Army (Ejército de Salvación) and Red Cross (Cruz Roja) seem to have the same collectors posted at the border every day. Among the other frontera regulars are amputees and cancer patients, one of whom wears a mask to accentuate the pathos appeal and brings her daughters to maximize the market saturation. But my favorite street-corner charity is the animal-welfare organization that occasionally sets up a drive-up rabies-vaccination clinic near our house.

Some companies can't really get feet on the street so they plaster the thoroughfares with billboards. This type of publicity is no surprise, of course, but sometimes it's shocking which celebrities they manage to convince to endorse their businesses. Did you know that Elisha Cuthbert (top left), who played the daughter of Kiefer Sutherland in 24 and went on to star in The Girl Next Door, supports one of the strip clubs on Avenida Revolución? In a huge stretch of suspension of disbelief, Kim Kardashian (top right), self-promoter extraordinaire, really wants you to attend a local university. But for an Ohio native like myself, the best testimonial comes from LeBron James (bottom), shown supporting a sporting-goods store -- in complete Cleveland Cavaliers gear.

 

Apparently, Mexicans don't hold any grudges about him jumping ship to Miami. So maybe there is a cultural difference I can complain about, huh?