A toast to the Sign Guys
November 21st 2008 04:04
A toast to the Sign Guys.
There is a small shack on the vacant lot across the street from me. It is a small business, they make signs (the big sign out front says ROTULOS). They also paint numbers onto taxis, and signs onto the sides of produce trucks, buses, etc.
This was an existing feature when I moved into my rental house, so it is someone else's property values not mine. They greeted me as I was moving in, and said "Welcome to the neighborhood, we will watch out for you, no worries." Thanks I said.
I don't jump up and try to make friends with everyone I meet, but the people who are going to be sitting across from your house, it's a given that you will have contact. It didn't take me long to notice a few things about the sign guys. First and foremost, they drink a lot. Not a problem for me, I like to drink too! But I do have my reservations about five grown me who sit in a shack all day drinking.
Plus, they drink grain alcohol. Tatascan, Honduran grain alcohol. This stuff is hot and potent. I first recognized it the day that the drunkest one came into my yard to help lift the heavy cement lid off my cistern. I noticed that he was trembling a bit, and had been drunk the day before, but he didn't smell like alcohol, so . . . . white lightning, grain alcohol, distilled without flavor or aroma.
That said, they also make a lot of signs, and they get a lot of taxis numbered. I see them work a lot, but I see them drink more. And they always have a big gregarious greeting for me when I get home.
Chochee is the owner. He is about 50, and he runs the shop and makes the money. There are several other cast members at the sign shop -- one 30 year old who is totally drunk about half the time, and one 50 year old who is "pickled" as we would say in Kansas, and is usually drunk, and never totally sober. Then there is also another guy who fixes bikes, his name is Mario and he is sober and functional nearly always, but of course he drinks a lot of alcohol.
There are other people around sometimes, clients and other visitors, who join in the card games and the drinking. So, it's a pretty wild crowd in general, and no one needs to tell me to not hang out with the sign guys. People do tell me all the time though. My landlord said, "Don't be letting those guys in here." Mario the bike guy himself says, don't hang out with these guys or let them in your house. (himself excluded of course, he would love a few invitations)
All I can say to that is, well duh!! First and foremost, you can't talk to drunks so what's the point? And you can't let em in your house for sure!
But all in all, I'm glad they are there. They are some of the best neighbors I've had in a long time. They aren't going to let anything happen while they are there. It's like built in security guards. And although I can't be sure it wasn't one of them (or one of their buddies) who stole stuff from my house in two break-ins, my gut instinct is that it sure wasn't one of the main employees.
Once, the drunkest one borrowed a dollar off of me and never paid me back. Another time, one of them got killed by gang members, and they wanted to name my dog after him. Sometimes they paint signs on my sidewalk (ok) and sometimes they pass out there drunk (mmmm, not ok).
Recently, I had a stretch of poverty. I am self employed, and the down times in freelance are a killer. I was waiting on some payments, which is better. But my cash flow was very, very limited. As would happen, lloviendo sobre mojado, my bike got stolen. This is the absolute straw that breaks the camel's back, when I try to economize by riding a bicycle to work, and my bike gets stolen.
So, I know that somebody owes me money, I can get a new bike. But until then I still have to get to my job daily, for our daily bread.
The sign guys have always said to me, "We are here, if you ever need anything." Mario in particular thinks I'm totally special and would do anything within his power to help.
So for at least three weeks, I've been taking the sign guys at their word. And in the tradition of Armageddon Gourmet, I know that in hard times it is your neighbors who will help you through.
So for three weeks I was borrowing a bike from the sign guys, to ride to my univ. classes, 4-6 pm daily.
Mario is of course the most amenable. "I will help you in any way I can," which to me means, I'm borrowing your bike from 4-6 daily and saturdays for my classes.
Chochee is a little more grumpy, and he likes to remind me that his soap opera starts at 6 pm, and could I please be back before then. Chochee, luck would have it, has the best bike. His bike is "girl style" (which I prefer, because I am going to work and like to wear my skirts) and his bike also has coaster brakes, very nostalgic.
Mario's bike is fine as well, a bit too tall, and boy style, but I can handle it, as opposed to losing my job at the Univ or taking taxis with cash. Plus Mario would never get mad at me for giving it back too late. Maybe one other time, I borrowed a bike from one of the lesser sign guys. There are six parked there most days.
And those guys are just getting drunk anyway or getting drunk and playing cards! And I bought a sign, and lent 20 Lps., and always lend my microwave for heating lunch, and pay for bike services, and am good for small loans up to $3 if I think I might get paid back. The least they can do is lend me a bike.
It's a particularly humiliating experience to ride a borrowed bike to school. But they are ny neighbors.
Once, during the low point of my dry spell of money, Chochee called out to me. "Gringecho!"
That is another story. They call me Gringecho. Everyone else has always called me Gringita, or gringa, or by my name. Chochee says, he "can't call me gringita" which I assume means that he can't use the diminunitive, or I'm just too old, something like that. So they call me Gringecho. Sounds like an insult to me, but clearly they are in agreement that it is the most correct.
Anyway, one day, Chochee calls out to me, "Gringecho."
"Hey chochee," I say, "How's the sign business, what's up today?" Greeting him very cordially, since of course, I want his bike later.
"Gringecho," he says, plainly drunk, "I have something for you. You like Bacardi?" At that point, I looked down, and notice that Chochee had not only a bottle of Bacardi, but also an Absolut vodka and some Bombay Gin.
"Chochee, what the hell are you doing man?" I said. "You drink Tatascan, what is this stuff?"
"We won the Chica," he said, the "small" lottery. I know that the small lottery pays about $40 for a win, and Chochee is surrounded by $50 worth of alcohol, which is perfect "sign guy math."
"I'm giving you this bottle of Bacardi." On the off side, the bottle was 85% empty, and warm, and had probably been sitting on the floor of a dirt shack all night, being sucked on by sign guys. On the on side . . . I had not tasted alcohol in over 2 weeks due to depression-like financial conditions, and the fact that eggs and milk and bread are $2 a pop, and between payments and all.
"Thanks Chochee," I said, taking the bottle and walking back across to my house. "Ay, gringecho." he said.
I waved at him all day. The little gift giving ceremony was at 9:00 am, and he mentioned it several times during the day, as I passed on my way to run errands. "You drinking Bacardi Gringecho?"
"No Chochee," I told him, "I'm saving it for later, but I am borrowing your bike later, so don't forget. I'll drink it tonight when I get back, and I'll think of you."
So that night after the humiliating borrowed bike night to school, I had one and a quarter shots of Bacardi to warm my stomach. Thanks Choch.
Anyway, fast forward to a week later. I had finally got some money. I was feeling good, leaving the house to buy food. Taxi money. I didn't have money for a bike yet, but I was mobile at least, and I was quickly repaying debts.
"Chochee," I said. "I got some money." He was dead sober that morning and trembling. I hadn't noticed before I walked up, I just wanted to tell him that things were better for me, and thanks for the help.
"Hey Gringecho," he said, "Go get us a bottle of Tatascan. The 25 Lps. bottle." I was there paying debts, so I said, "I am absolutely going to buy you the 25 Lps. bottle of hooch, but first, I don't even have a bike yet, and no taxi money, so I'm taking your bike."
"Go to the Canasta?" I asked, because I do not know where to buy Tatascan. They looked at each other, and mumbled in agreement, "No, it's 12:29 and the Canasta closes at 12:30."
"Go to the Stadium," they replied in unison.
The stadium is about a mile and a half away. No, I am not riding your bike to the stadium for the Tatascan.
"Hey," says Chochee, "This guy here is going to give you a ride on his motorcycle to the Stadium to buy the Tatascan." I haven't been on a ride on a motorcycle in Honduras in exactly six years, since the last time I was stuck somewhere without a ride. "He even has helmet for you," says Chochee.
So I got on the motorcycle and rode with some strange man to the stadium, where the outlet alcohol stands were open. I walked under the noon day sun with my helmet still on to buy a bottle of Tatascan at 12 noon.
So, suffice to say, after riding to the stadium to buy liquor at noon for the sign guys, I consider all my bicycle debts paid.
Here is a beautiful promotional video for Tatascan, el Mero Mero.
and some more videos from the intertubes
You can also visit this entirely interesting site about some French Girls on an ICYE exchange, who drank lots of Tatascan. You can see the results on their blog, here.
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Comment by Anonymous
~ B
Comment by Anonymous
love, katrina
Comment by Anonymous
love, katrina