Peruvian Coke Mules, and the Women Who Love Them

I don't know about that, it just sounded like a good eye-catcher. Recently a coworker of Teter and mine picked up stakes and moved off to Peru. Just on a whim. If you asked him the week before he left, he would have told you he had no job there, no place to stay, and only spoke middling Spanish.

I think it's very important to know how to ask questions in different languages. Particularly "Where's the bathroom?" If you think about it, this could be the most important bit of information you would ever need. So far I can ask it in three languages: English, French (Oue la salle de bain?) and the international-potty-dance language. The last one pretty much covers all creeds and cultures, albeit with less pinache.

Kind of like the book I just read, Chuck Palahniuk's 'Choke.' If you haven't heard of the guy before, just think of a shirtless Brad Pitt saying "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club." Anyway, this guy makes himself choke in restaurants on purpose so people can save him, and then send him money in the mail to help him out. He had an international-potty-dance too, just his meant he was going to choke to death.

I hope my former coworker has some sort of international-potty-dance, whatever his may be. Like "Hey look at me, I'm a Peruvian coke mule!" That, I think, would consist of him waving his arms wildly above his head, like the marionette Gary from 'Team America: World Police' when he is supposed to give 'the signal.' I hope this would net him some special treatment down there in the land of the South Americans, and not just funny looks from the locals, muttering about the loco gringo.

Good luck down there Mark. Let us know if the water truly does swirl differently south of the equator, a scientific fact I've started to lose faith in. May the wind always be at your back and the sun always shine on your face, and may you be in Heaven three days before the Devil knows you're dead.