Dine and Dash.

I went to San Juan del Cabo for a few days with Michael, Christian and Josh. It was one of those time share trial deals that we couldn’t pass up since we were all acutely broke. The trip was pretty much fraught with disaster so we decided on the last night to treat ourselves to a nice dinner on the beach. We found a map of Cabo San Lucas that showed two dining locations. The map looked like it had been designed by the Tijuana Chamber of Commerce and was pretty hard to decipher but we would navigate it somehow.

The map took our crowded Nissan Sentra down a rock-studded dirt road to a place where a lot of cars were jockeying for position. According to our map we weren’t far away. The road got rockier and dustier, but the map continued to reassure us. The neighborhood got seedier and seedier. Finally, we came to a chained off street where the car in front of us was ushered in. Assuming we had arrived at our destination, we followed the car and found a parking spot. In doing so, we pissed off the local “parking attendants”. A fellow tourist told us that we would be okay if we just apologized profusely and gave them a good tip on our way out. 

I freaked all through dinner hoping our car would be safe. My traveling companions didn't seem too worried and kept ordering more coffee and wine. It was getting dark and I began to freak even more. I pictured the car perched on blocks, windows smashed and “No Parking” spray painted on the doors. I convinced the guys we should go. Michael wanted to stroll along the beach but my pleas prevailed. We walked up to the parking lot. I was relieved to find the car untouched. Untouched, yes, but Michael had left the lights on and we had a dead battery. We each set out in different directions to find some help. An English-speaking person would have been a plus, too. Finally, some good news—I found a tequila salesman who tracked down some jumper cables for us. The bad news is they belonged to the pissed off parking attendants who wanted to have a little word with us. Clearly, that was not an option. 

After pounding our battery with a giant rock, Tequila Man found a carload of locals who were friendlier and gave us a jump. We gave every last bill we had to them and Tequila Man as a thank you. We drove away forgetting we needed money to tip the pissed off parking attendants. Luckily, they were nowhere to be seen and we sped though the gate. 

The warning light of the Nissan came on signaling we were about out of gas. None of the gas stations took credit cards so we gathered all of our Mexican coinage and got enough gas to get us to the rental agency in the morning and off to the airport.

We bid Cabo adios. As the plane took off from the runway, I glanced out of the window and swear I saw an angry group of parking attendants hot on our tail.