"Yeah, he had a gun"
Meeting my Mexican neighbor for the first time...
Being one of the most fertile men in Mexico and reproducing at such an exceptionally rapid rate, I’ll occasionally make a minor parenting mistake. Like losing track of one of my many offspring.
Of course, we always find them.
But every now and then, there’s some collateral damage. Bruised knees, bumped head, a bit of crying here or there. No big deal.
However, things went differently on one lovely Thursday evening in Guadalajara, Mexico 🇲🇽
Locked.
After a lovely dinner, I got my two-year old out of her highchair and set her on the floor.
She’s been giggling all dinner, in a silly mood for whatever reason. Far preferable to her normal “terrible twos” disposition we’ve grown accustomed to.
But instead of going to play with her toys or bring me a book to read with her, she bolted to the master bedroom while laughing and quickly locked the door.
JA JA JA JA
“Ok, silly girl. Twist the knob the other way to open the door.”
She’s still laughing.
“Silly girl, you need to unlock the door. Twist the knob the other way, baby.”
She slowly stops laughing. I can hear her fiddling with the lock, but she can’t figure out how to unlock it.
She replies, “Daddy, I can’t do it!”
There’s a bit of stress in her voice.
“Daddy, come get me!”
Even more stress in her voice now. She’s two and starting to panic that she’s locked in a room and can’t see mommy or daddy.
I try to calm her down and see if she can open the door. It’s not happening. A panicking two-year old and a tricky lock is not a good combination.
So I have mi vieja call a locksmith, while I try to keep our little one calm to no avail. She’s crying – screaming for mommy and daddy – in a full-on panic.
The locksmith says he can get to us in 60-90 minutes.
Mierda!
That’s not gonna work. We’ve got a panicking toddler crying bloody murder already. Who knows what could happen with her alone in that room for over an hour?
I try to pick the lock myself, but it’s not happening. The door is way too thick to try and slam through it.
After a quick think, I decided to go down and talk with our security guards. See if the maintenance guy is still on call. Or if there’s anything we can do here outside of waiting for the locksmith.
Luckily, I gave our security guards cash and cigars for a little Christmas bonus, so the guard on duty immediately sprang into action. He called the maintenance guy to meet us at my apartment, grabbed a screwdriver, and went upstairs with me.
Always treat your security guards well in LatAm.
Hammer.
It’s me, the security guard, and the maintenance guy. We’ve got some screwdrivers, a sledgehammer, and a drill.
My daughter is still locked in the room screaming bloody murder at this point.
The maintenance guy goes to work taking the outside of the door frame off with the drill.
Then he begins to wedge the screwdriver into the door and bang it with the sledgehammer.
It’s loud.
It sounds like a full-on construction site inside my apartment. And I’m yelling at the top of my lungs to my daughter:
“GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR, HONEY! I DON’T WANT YOU TO GET HIT BY ANYTHING”
P.S: I, Jake Nomada, am fighting back. I am The Latin Hammer™ now.
This scene continues for about 15-minutes. Progress is being made. The door completely and utterly destroyed. We’ve almost got it open.
Then I hear the doorbell ring…
I remember that my good friend and neighbor was supposed to be headed over to work on a little project we’d put together.
