Post by gemglitter on Feb 20, 2011 14:27:14 GMT -5
The Road to Hott and Fluffy
“Alfonso, you’re driving too fast,” my tía says, her brown hair pulled into a pony tail.
I glance at his speedometer, thirty five miles an hour…on the Tucson freeway! My tío nods his head and slows down to twenty five miles an hour…yeah, we were loved by the other drivers.
I fully understand that a requirement for being a “true Mexican” is to be able to squeeze yourself into a small car with other Mexicans in staggering numbers and believe me I had achieved this! In my little five passenger Nissan my friends and I fit in ten people but somehow stuffing people into a car is different than stuffing luggage into a truck. In a double cabin truck stuffed along with my tío and tía in the front seat, and myself and my mom in the back were three women’s luggage (all in various large bags), a medicine bag, a plug-in insulin cooler, two Christmas presents, two laptop cases, four winter coats, and my tío’s little Food City grocery bag with his change of clothes. Why none of us thought to use covered suit cases so we could throw them outside is probably the same common sense that led me to believe that it would be fun to go in my tío’s new truck from Douglas to Tucson (two hours on a good day, going on three and a half) to go watch the Latin comic, Gabriel Iglesias, AKA Hott and Fluffy.
“Aaaaaaaa,” my tía yawns.
“¡Brenda!” my mom hollers balancing her laptop which she is only using to play solitaire. “You unplugged the cooler!”
My tía scrambles to stretch the extension cord back through the seats looking the way a gardener does when starting a gasoline lawn mower. “¡Alfonso!” she says as she “finally” notices the other cars zooming by. “You’re on the freeway, speed up, they’re passing us!’
My mom sighs. My uncle nods speeding up to 85 miles an hour. I try to move my lap top case off my lap which I brought to turn in homework in the promised wifi available luxurious Motel 6. “¡Gemma!” My mom glares at me. “Stop moving!” Her chiltepin dyed hair glimmers in the sun.
Pouting I try stretching my toes in my chanclas. They hit the Christmas presents that are shoved underneath the seats. “So, where is the Motel 6?” I ask my tía. Our agreement was I found the tickets, my mom bought the tickets, and my tía got the rooms.
“Off the freeway.”
“Well where off the freeway?” My mom shuts her laptop. “Alfonso needs to know which exit to take.
“Wha…wha..what?” my tía stutters, my tío smiles, I try to blend in with the luggage.
“Brenda, the address, what is it?”
“I don’t know!”
“What do you mean, you don’t know!” She gives my tía a mom glare, eyes open wide with her head raised.
“Well, why should I know?”
I couldn’t help it. “Because you were the one that booked them!” I say.
“¡Alfonso!” my tía says. “You’re going too fast!”
My uncle slows down.
“How do you expect us to find it?” my mom asks.
“It’s a Motel 6 Lupe, off the freeway, how hard can it be?” My tío motions to my tía a Motel 6 sign up ahead. “See, right off the freeway.” She triumphantly grins.
My tío exits the freeway. I spot a mile worth of cheap motels discolored in the Tucson sun. “Tía,” I count ahead. “There’s four Motel 6s, which one is it?
Silence.
“¿Tía?”
My uncle smiles.
“Brenda?” my mom asks.
“I told you guys, I-don’t-know!” My mom tries to move beneath the luggage causing some unknown object to stab me on my side. “We are just going to have to ask.”
I try stretching again, my mom’s eyes dart to me and I freeze. “What do you mean ask?” my mom asks.
“I’ll just ask the front desk. Besides, I’m sure it’s the first one.”
My mom glances at the first Motel 6 as my uncle drives in. I’m getting ready to bolt out of the claustrophobic truck; the sensation of stretching my six foot frame brings a smile to my face.
“Lupe, Gemma, hide beneath the chaquetas when we park near the office.”
My mom leans on my tío’s seat and stares at my tía. “WHAT?” she demands.
“Well, I got the rooms, but I said it was for two single rooms, it was $9 extra for each person.”
Silence.
My mom leans back. “You’re kidding!”
My tía’s toothy grin says it all. My mom and I quickly hide beneath the coats. I know my mother’s glaring eyes never fall from my tía and my tia must know. In fact, as soon as my tío pulls in front of the office I hear the truck door open and my osteopenic tía jump out of the truck. My tío raises the volume. The Tucson oldies statíon is playing “Jailhouse Rock.” A few seconds into the song I start bobbin’ my head to the rhythm.
“¡Gemma!” my mom yells, I stop mid bob.
Moments later we hear my tía. “Hey….you guys its okay, not the one.” Like prairie dogs we pop up from the coats. “There’s another one two blocks down.” She lowers the music.
Try number two goes pretty much the same, we hide, my tía goes into the office, tío raises the volume, and we wait. The now familiar, “Hey,” brings our heads up.
Exiting this motel is the entertaining part. We have two options, 1) take a construction exit, which would put us back onto the freeway and we risk missing the next Motel 6, due to the fact we still have no address or 2) take a back road which according to the desk attendant “might” take us to the next motel. So of course my tía and my mom agree the back road is best. After this one agreement my mom and tía go into this “we are not arguing but discussing” discussion which begins in English, then quickly becomes Spanish, and finally turns into this fast no pausing for air Spanish.
“Brenda what posses you not to get an address?”
“I just didn’t think it was important.”
“How could an address not be important!”
“¡Haye ya no podemos hacer nada…”
“¡Pero Brenda vamos estar como idiotas buscando el lugar!”
“¡Lupe ya—“
“¡Como que ya tu no estas agui—“
“ ¡Pero se he estado—“
“¡Brenda!”
My tío and I stay out of it. Slightly stretching my left foot I feel a little free space. Stretching farther, success, I wiggle my toes glancing towards my mom who doesn’t notice my movement…and neither of them notices my tío pointing to an upcoming sign his scratched glasses balancing on his nose. “Hey you guys, we are now leaving Tucson city limits!” I read.
“WH-AT?” my tía exclaims.
Finally, looking outside the truck the bland city scene has morphed into an Arizona Highways post card! The desert mountains are pimpled over with dried brush. The saguaros cast the only major shadows onto the cracked dirt. Amid a flurry of backseat driving, with “keep straight,” “turn here,” “no, here,” “left turn,” we make it onto some blue building’s parking lot. Mind you none of us backseat driver’s have a map or even have been in Tucson cumulatively more than twenty times in our lives. Beyond this parking lot we spot a Motel 6 sign and the beauty of it is, it doesn’t look familiar!
Managing to get into the motel parking lot only took a few dead ends but finally we make it. My mom and I dive under the coats and my tío raises the volume-my tía hadn’t lowered it. We wait. “The Lions Sleeps Tonight” begins and ends, still no tía. A bead of sweat rolls down my temple and onto my neck. “Hound Dog” ends and still no tía. “Great Balls of Fire” begins and I hear the door open.
“Success!” She lowers the volume. “We are at the far end.” I feel the truck go over some pot holes. “Gemma bad news, no internet.”
My mom laughs. I grip my useless laptop case.
The truck stops and my tía opens the door. AIR!!! “I’m staaarv-ing!” she says not getting out of the truck.
“Where do you want to eat?” I ask motioning her to get out so I can jump out of the truck…no luck.
“The Hotel Congress.” She leans back in her chair. “It’s so historic.”
My tío turns off the truck. “Well,” he says. “DO we have the address for that?”
My mom and I look at him for a moment then we burst out laughing till tears well up in our eyes.
My tía glares at him. “WHA…WHA…WHAT!”
My tío smiles.
“Alfonso, you’re driving too fast,” my tía says, her brown hair pulled into a pony tail.
I glance at his speedometer, thirty five miles an hour…on the Tucson freeway! My tío nods his head and slows down to twenty five miles an hour…yeah, we were loved by the other drivers.
I fully understand that a requirement for being a “true Mexican” is to be able to squeeze yourself into a small car with other Mexicans in staggering numbers and believe me I had achieved this! In my little five passenger Nissan my friends and I fit in ten people but somehow stuffing people into a car is different than stuffing luggage into a truck. In a double cabin truck stuffed along with my tío and tía in the front seat, and myself and my mom in the back were three women’s luggage (all in various large bags), a medicine bag, a plug-in insulin cooler, two Christmas presents, two laptop cases, four winter coats, and my tío’s little Food City grocery bag with his change of clothes. Why none of us thought to use covered suit cases so we could throw them outside is probably the same common sense that led me to believe that it would be fun to go in my tío’s new truck from Douglas to Tucson (two hours on a good day, going on three and a half) to go watch the Latin comic, Gabriel Iglesias, AKA Hott and Fluffy.
“Aaaaaaaa,” my tía yawns.
“¡Brenda!” my mom hollers balancing her laptop which she is only using to play solitaire. “You unplugged the cooler!”
My tía scrambles to stretch the extension cord back through the seats looking the way a gardener does when starting a gasoline lawn mower. “¡Alfonso!” she says as she “finally” notices the other cars zooming by. “You’re on the freeway, speed up, they’re passing us!’
My mom sighs. My uncle nods speeding up to 85 miles an hour. I try to move my lap top case off my lap which I brought to turn in homework in the promised wifi available luxurious Motel 6. “¡Gemma!” My mom glares at me. “Stop moving!” Her chiltepin dyed hair glimmers in the sun.
Pouting I try stretching my toes in my chanclas. They hit the Christmas presents that are shoved underneath the seats. “So, where is the Motel 6?” I ask my tía. Our agreement was I found the tickets, my mom bought the tickets, and my tía got the rooms.
“Off the freeway.”
“Well where off the freeway?” My mom shuts her laptop. “Alfonso needs to know which exit to take.
“Wha…wha..what?” my tía stutters, my tío smiles, I try to blend in with the luggage.
“Brenda, the address, what is it?”
“I don’t know!”
“What do you mean, you don’t know!” She gives my tía a mom glare, eyes open wide with her head raised.
“Well, why should I know?”
I couldn’t help it. “Because you were the one that booked them!” I say.
“¡Alfonso!” my tía says. “You’re going too fast!”
My uncle slows down.
“How do you expect us to find it?” my mom asks.
“It’s a Motel 6 Lupe, off the freeway, how hard can it be?” My tío motions to my tía a Motel 6 sign up ahead. “See, right off the freeway.” She triumphantly grins.
My tío exits the freeway. I spot a mile worth of cheap motels discolored in the Tucson sun. “Tía,” I count ahead. “There’s four Motel 6s, which one is it?
Silence.
“¿Tía?”
My uncle smiles.
“Brenda?” my mom asks.
“I told you guys, I-don’t-know!” My mom tries to move beneath the luggage causing some unknown object to stab me on my side. “We are just going to have to ask.”
I try stretching again, my mom’s eyes dart to me and I freeze. “What do you mean ask?” my mom asks.
“I’ll just ask the front desk. Besides, I’m sure it’s the first one.”
My mom glances at the first Motel 6 as my uncle drives in. I’m getting ready to bolt out of the claustrophobic truck; the sensation of stretching my six foot frame brings a smile to my face.
“Lupe, Gemma, hide beneath the chaquetas when we park near the office.”
My mom leans on my tío’s seat and stares at my tía. “WHAT?” she demands.
“Well, I got the rooms, but I said it was for two single rooms, it was $9 extra for each person.”
Silence.
My mom leans back. “You’re kidding!”
My tía’s toothy grin says it all. My mom and I quickly hide beneath the coats. I know my mother’s glaring eyes never fall from my tía and my tia must know. In fact, as soon as my tío pulls in front of the office I hear the truck door open and my osteopenic tía jump out of the truck. My tío raises the volume. The Tucson oldies statíon is playing “Jailhouse Rock.” A few seconds into the song I start bobbin’ my head to the rhythm.
“¡Gemma!” my mom yells, I stop mid bob.
Moments later we hear my tía. “Hey….you guys its okay, not the one.” Like prairie dogs we pop up from the coats. “There’s another one two blocks down.” She lowers the music.
Try number two goes pretty much the same, we hide, my tía goes into the office, tío raises the volume, and we wait. The now familiar, “Hey,” brings our heads up.
Exiting this motel is the entertaining part. We have two options, 1) take a construction exit, which would put us back onto the freeway and we risk missing the next Motel 6, due to the fact we still have no address or 2) take a back road which according to the desk attendant “might” take us to the next motel. So of course my tía and my mom agree the back road is best. After this one agreement my mom and tía go into this “we are not arguing but discussing” discussion which begins in English, then quickly becomes Spanish, and finally turns into this fast no pausing for air Spanish.
“Brenda what posses you not to get an address?”
“I just didn’t think it was important.”
“How could an address not be important!”
“¡Haye ya no podemos hacer nada…”
“¡Pero Brenda vamos estar como idiotas buscando el lugar!”
“¡Lupe ya—“
“¡Como que ya tu no estas agui—“
“ ¡Pero se he estado—“
“¡Brenda!”
My tío and I stay out of it. Slightly stretching my left foot I feel a little free space. Stretching farther, success, I wiggle my toes glancing towards my mom who doesn’t notice my movement…and neither of them notices my tío pointing to an upcoming sign his scratched glasses balancing on his nose. “Hey you guys, we are now leaving Tucson city limits!” I read.
“WH-AT?” my tía exclaims.
Finally, looking outside the truck the bland city scene has morphed into an Arizona Highways post card! The desert mountains are pimpled over with dried brush. The saguaros cast the only major shadows onto the cracked dirt. Amid a flurry of backseat driving, with “keep straight,” “turn here,” “no, here,” “left turn,” we make it onto some blue building’s parking lot. Mind you none of us backseat driver’s have a map or even have been in Tucson cumulatively more than twenty times in our lives. Beyond this parking lot we spot a Motel 6 sign and the beauty of it is, it doesn’t look familiar!
Managing to get into the motel parking lot only took a few dead ends but finally we make it. My mom and I dive under the coats and my tío raises the volume-my tía hadn’t lowered it. We wait. “The Lions Sleeps Tonight” begins and ends, still no tía. A bead of sweat rolls down my temple and onto my neck. “Hound Dog” ends and still no tía. “Great Balls of Fire” begins and I hear the door open.
“Success!” She lowers the volume. “We are at the far end.” I feel the truck go over some pot holes. “Gemma bad news, no internet.”
My mom laughs. I grip my useless laptop case.
The truck stops and my tía opens the door. AIR!!! “I’m staaarv-ing!” she says not getting out of the truck.
“Where do you want to eat?” I ask motioning her to get out so I can jump out of the truck…no luck.
“The Hotel Congress.” She leans back in her chair. “It’s so historic.”
My tío turns off the truck. “Well,” he says. “DO we have the address for that?”
My mom and I look at him for a moment then we burst out laughing till tears well up in our eyes.
My tía glares at him. “WHA…WHA…WHAT!”
My tío smiles.