A Game of I Spy

It’s the week I look forward to all year… it’s the week I spend with Matthew on the Riviera Maya in Mexico. It doesn’t slip by me that not everyone does this. Twenty years ago, I never would have thought I’d be doing it, either. I mean, why me? Yet here we are relaxing, connecting, reflecting, and planning. We celebrate our wins, and dig down into our failures, regroup, and hatch a plan for moving forward. We do this all in a place of beauty… a place where there are no schedules and no demands. Mostly.

This morning our schedule demanded we make a trip back to the airport for an appointment Matthew booked for us. Why? Because he hates lines. There is such a thing now as the Global Entry program. It allows those who go through the process to skip the long customs lines at the airport. Mexico participates, too, so we applied for easy entry into Mexico as well.

We arranged for a ride back to the airport, and our driver promised to wait for us. At least we thought he did. Our Spanish is a bit lacking. The immigration official was thirty minutes late for the appointment. Hello, Mexico. But when he finally arrived, he was nice and very helpful. He led us to an office where he put our information into the computer and took our photographs. Then came the scanning of our fingerprints. No big deal, right? Not unless you don’t have fingerprints… which I don’t.

That’s right. No fingerprints to speak of. You know that iTouch feature on the iPhone? Yep, useless for me. Ever been to a Disney park where they scan a finger for entry? Nope. No can do.

The official at the airport had me try scanning my fingers many times. Light pressure then more pressure…”Try adding lotion”, he said. Okay. I tried, knowing it would do no good. It didn’t. That’s when he started looking at me funny. Maybe it was the CIA spy joke I made. Or perhaps it was the one where I mentioned rethinking my life choices in favor of a life of crime.

In the end, I decided to shut my mouth. Discretion being the better part of valor and all that. Besides, no one comes to Mexico hoping to land in a Mexican jail. The immigration official finally shrugged his shoulders and processed our papers without the prints. He actually ended up giving me a card that would allow me to come into Mexico as if I was Mexican. How about that? I guess I didn’t really look like a spy to him… but isn’t that the point?

We found our driver still waiting for us when we finished, and made the trip back to the resort in time to pick out a nice beach bed before lunch. Matthew poked fun at me a bit… saying how God made us all unique with fingerprints like no one else’s… well except for me. Haha. Funny man.

I’d tell him what happened to my fingerprints, but then I’d have to kill him. I think instead I’ll just order another one of those yummy fruity drinks they serve here, and get back to my Jason Borne novel. 

Sent from my iPad

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