I went shopping for white slacks. Size 10. Light weight. Thin enough that I could easily tuck them into a corner of my already bulging suitcase. Instead, I bought a living room chair.
This wasn’t just any chair; it was the chair that I’d dreamed about since I’d seen a photo of it in a (insert a decorating magazine name) two summers ago. It wasn’t as if I imagined I’d find this chair. It was merely an abstract desire. But the situation became concrete when I first noticed it, pointed and said to Alex, “Look Alex, there’s my chair.” Then I turned over the price tag. I grinned.
We were in a consignment (aka thrift) store. Near San Diego. Where slacks are clean, hung neatly and arranged by color. Where sweaters smell like Woolite. And where chairs seem new except for the tiny faded spot near the rear left leg. Where price tags are too low to ignore.
“How will we get it to La Paz?” asked Alex. He looked through the store window at Zoom, my tiny Miata, and asked, “How will we get it to Vickie’s?”
“It will be easy”, I replied.
We paid the cashier and asked if they’d hold the chair for us. We sent an e-mail to Vickie, the person we’re housesitting for, and asked if we could borrow her SUV, and began to search for methods to transport the chair south 1,100 miles. The first estimate was $499. Alex grabbed the calculator. If he flew to La Paz, drove our Blazer north to San Diego, and we both drove back to La Paz instead of flying the cost for gas and hotel would be slightly less than $500.
Alex said, “Tell me again why this chair is so special.”
I said, “I know you already have a chair in La Paz. But it’s dark green leather so it looks like it belongs in a house where you need a fireplace and mittens. Plus, it’s big and clunky. And the footstool is huge. And it’s a recliner! Our living room is small so it’s about scale and creating the illusion of space. While both may be the same size, notice that the new chair is much more open and light looking. Yes, I know that we paid $1450 not including the matching footstool for the leather one. But this chair is labeled Pottery Barn on the bottom so I bet it was expensive, too. And you can’t find chairs like this in La Paz. Also, I bet that we can sell the leather chair for $100 in La Paz.”
After calling several ground transport companies, we thought of Volaris Airlines. While Juan was working up an estimate I twirled my hair, a nervous habit I’ve recently developed. $2000 pesos (about $170 U.S.). But we’d have to bring the chair to TJ airport.
Once again we e-mailed Vickie and asked to borrow her SUV. We called Ginger and Ray, our friends in La Paz. Yes, they could drive to the airport, pick up the chair, and take it to our house. We bought tape, bubble wrap and cardboard. We protected the chair as if it were a newborn.
Yesterday morning we filled Vickie’s car with gas and headed to the border. After circling the airport three times, we found Customs and paid $150 pesos duty. Juan at Voloris measured and weighed the chair. $800 pesos. Not, the $2000 he’d estimated. Of course, he neglected to include the legs when he took his measurements. One of the many things I love about Mexico is that if you’re pleasant and respectful, most often you’ll get a break. And, since I’d called Juan at least three times, what he might have considered just another ordinary item became known as “The Chair”. He gently took The Chair, placed five fragile stickers on it and we shook hands.
We had been so concerned about getting to the airport that we hadn’t considered the route back to the border and we took a wrong turn. We stopped, asked for directions and finally found the line. Unfortunately, it was reserved for frequent border crossers. The U.S. border patrol had no sense of humor and took our passports, wrapped them in pink paper and placed them under our windshield wipers and pointed us to a secondary inspection area. We waited. Turned off the engine and turned on NPR and heard about the budget deficit. For a moment I wondered if buying the chair was adding to our family’s deficit.
Finally, the car in front of us moved forward. Alex turned the key. Silence. The inspector waved us forward. Alex flushed and swore. The inspector helped us push the car forward. While Alex used the bathroom I went from car to car asking for jumper cables. I noticed that all the other cars contained Hispanics. I was embarrassed at how they were treated Finally, I turned to the most unlikely prospect. An older woman alone. “Si, tengo cables”, she said to me. The inspector allowed her to pull up to Vickie’s car. And by the time Alex returned, she had the cables connected and with the turn of two keys, our engine was running. I folded a large bill in my palm and tried to hand it to her but she acted shocked and said that next time it might be her that needs help. Here was an older woman who’d been pulled over, had waited for more than an hour, and remained patient, generous, and, more than anything still, willing to help two Americans.
The inspector never opened our doors or trunk. He merely told Alex that they could have fined us $5000 because we went into the wrong line. That would have pushed up the cost of the chair up to a level that even I couldn’t justify.
But we arrived home safely and at this moment, I’m twilling my hair and waiting for a call from Ginger and Ray. They should be on their way to the airport.
