ELECTION TIME DOWN SOUTH
By E.G. Brady

Well, it’s once again elec- tion time in Mazatlán, and for an entire weekend the only way to get served a nice cold margarita is to head down to the airport and board an international flight. You see, here in Mexico they take their hard won democracy so seriously that they prohibit the sale of alcoholic beverages for days on end during election weekend. What a concept! If they had laws like that in the US, maybe Al Gore would have gotten the AW0H vote (absent with one heckuvvahangover) and carried the Deep South. And maybe, if they made drinking before voting mandatory, Ralph Nader would have a chance. Actually, in spite of this cruel and unusual law, I’d still much rather be in Mazatlán than back home during an election year. For one thing, foreigners are constitutionally prohibited from meddling in politics so I thankfully do not feel obligated to get all worked up about The Issues. That’s my wife’s job. She has somehow wangled her way into the important and demanding position of neighborhood rabble rouser for a certain Mexican political party whose acronym starts with P. She is in charge of herding potential voters to pep rallies, storing and dispersing propaganda leaflets, and plastering posters and bumper stickers wherever permitted or space allows. The pay is not impressive, but there is always the possibility that her candidates might win and she will be a powerful VIP in local political circles. Makes me nervous just contemplating the prospect of victory. One of the good things about being down here during election times (dry laws and all) is not being up there. As I recall, in the US, campaigns consist mostly of a deluge of unpleasant TV advertisements, with really ugly

background music, attempting to depict the distinguished opponent as an unrepentant cannibal, an embezzler of Cub Scout funds, all the while on the secret payrolls of Fidel Castro and Slobo Milosovic simultaneously. Down here, you’d never know there was an opponent, distinguished, heinous or otherwise. The TV ads and campaign literature dwell mostly on how much the candidate loves his family, his home, his children, the land he humbly grew up in, his parents, his wife, her family, your family and everybody’s family in general. Banda music fills the air. Policies and plans are vague, but no matter who wins, family love will rule. Important election tip: If you’re a tourist in Mazatlán, chances are good that you like to drink something stronger than tea on a hot afternoon (am I clairvoyant or what!). What you must do is be prepared. It is not illegal to possess or consume alcohol. Only sales are prohibited. Before last call on Friday, make sure your bathtub is sufficiently filled with ice cubes, beer and/or booze to wet the whistles of you, your family, and all the newfound friends you will suddenly have. An astute bachelor will turn the situation to his advantage, making his hotel room an oasis for thirsty babes. One cautionary note: If you buy quarts of beer (the cheapest way to go), the store will charge you five or six pesos deposit for each one, and give you a small illegible receipt (pronounced TEEket). Return the empties promptly. This ticket is only good for a couple of days or so, depending, after which your flock of empty bottles is no longer an asset, though, with the help of my family connections (assuming the P** wins big), you might be able to deduct the whole thing as a campaign expense.

 

 

Email Us Your Comments or Suggestions
Copyright 1999
Mazatlan's Pacific Pearl
All Rights Reserved