In, 2004. a few of us went to San Diego for a few days. We spent one of those days in fabulous Tijuana. At the time, Tijuana’s reputation wasn’t very good but the ladies could not resist the temptation of sales at great prices.

We met a crappy looking bus that took us from San Diego across the border to a crappier looking bus station. The bus station was connected to a shopping mall that was dark and dingy. Everything looked old, dirty, and broken-down.

Despite the preparations and the warnings, I desperately needed to use a bathroom. <scene deleted> I really didn’t enjoy that.

The stores in the mall only seemed to have cheap crap. There were cheap crappy purses, cheap crappy shoes, and cheap crappy trinkets of all kinds.

When we moved outside of the mall, we saw more of the same except it was sunnier. This was unfortunate because the cheap crappy stuff didn’t benefit from illumination.

The only respite from the cheap crappy surroundings was when we had lunch at a Hard Rock Cafe of all places. Once we were inside, it looked like any of the other Hard Rock Cafes that I’ve been to except that it was a bit cheaper and crappier looking. We spent our time there wondering if they’d lied when they said that they didn’t use local water for their ice and we were going to die from some horrible intestinal infection. At least, that’s how I spent my time.

On the way back, at U.S. Customs, the agent asked Pam if we’d brought anything back from outside the United States. Pam said “Yes” and the agent asked how much this all cost.

From behind her, I could tell that Pam was going to try to itemize every single trinket and toy that she’d picked up this day. I leaned over Pam’s shoulder and said to the agent, “About fifty bucks worth of crap.”

The agent nodded at me sympathetically and waved us on thru.

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