My first big, overblown bitch about El Salvador
You want to know what is scary in El Salvador? The freaking mail! Today, my mail arrived with a note, “Tramite Aduanal Urgente II.” The thing I needed most, two paychecks and some damned decent theatrical makeup was directed through customs at the airport for pickup.
To pick this up, I need the following:
1. One NIT – Salvadoran Tax ID number
2. It must be registered with customs
3. Original receipts for the items shipped to me
4. And they didn’t have my telephone number…silly me! MAIL needs a phone number now?
Apparently, a used leash for my dog, old cell phone from 2006 with all my addresses on it, and some makeup flagged them. THIS is the valuable stuff of life!
A 40 Inch Bravia Flatscreen LCD HDMI T.V. which I was willing to pay taxes on, did not concern them when I entered this country. And a Bose Wave stereo system...nada! Completely understood, because every Salvadoran needs music, right? The XBox and three games...usado! (I put grease fingerprints all over the new console). Not a problem.
But God DAMN that makeup that came today! And it was a brand I'll never get here...Dermablend.
Now for those of you who have never had to cover tattoos or facial discolorations, or even scars...this is inconsequential. But for us, this theatrical makeup is the only brand that completely covers my husband's tattoos...making him suddenly a "decent man" until we get them removed. This makeup won't sweat off, wash off, slap off. I could shoot him all day with dish soap and this shit wouldn’t budge. And it's the thing we needed most. But customs had a gnat up their ass. Apparently, makeup was something they needed to investigate.
So tomorrow I put more makeup on my husband, more foundation, powder, blush, and coverup; and off to the airport we go. Him with his attitude of, “This is my fucking country, God DAMN it! And you WILL give up our shit!”
And me with my most humble apologetic face, the type you’d see with a palm outstretched and two downturned eyes like something Cantiflas would whip up...as I said, “Dos pesos, por favor,” in my most pitiful voice. And you can bet that Agnes Moorehead has nothing on me when it comes to acting!
Drama queen? You BET! And if they don’t like it, kiss my big ol' Latin-American ASS!
For God's sake! The man is already working in El Salvador as a salesman for a global communications company, making more than most anti-immigrant bricklayers and construction workers living in the states! He's not breaking laws, he's observing them to remain alive. He's not "leaning like a cholo," he's dressing like Tiger Woods.
But this is the provincial crap that pisses me off about Central America. Got tattoos? You must be the dirt waiting outside our door to rob our vestal virginal daughter of her feigned chastity. Or at least, you have to be there to rob us of our green nubby furniture that nobody in the world has seen since the 50's. It's just GOT to be that! It's like even the wealthy here were raised in the year 1950, when sailors captured those "starry-eyed" 12 year old girls for their wives and planted flags here. The elite in this country can be about as sophisticated as a monkey picking lice off another monkey sometimes.
In El Salvador, if you are a man, you can screw five women here and impregnate them...leaving your offspring to fend for them self. But GODDAMN you if you have a tattoo! And I think you get bonus boogie points if you can raise your voice to a woman and terrify her. You should see their eyes when this Argentine bitch screams back! “Mama didn’t raise no fool!”
Okay, okay...I’m overreacting. THESE BASTARDS!! THERE...feel MUCH better! Ahhhhhh! Is it cocktail hour yet?