We should all broaden our horizons, whether through student exchanges, internships, extended travel, or simply vacationing abroad. I have traveled through Latin America when I was lucky enough to have the opportunities, and became enchanted with certain places south of the border. I now have a part-time home in Puerto Vallarta, where I spend about half of each year.

I had to return to California for a week in April, and thought I would take some notes on my trip - the bits of conversation I overheard; the things I did; and the people who struck me as being "typical" of American culture. That is, I wanted to try to find the things that struck me particularly as being "different" or strange, after spending several months abroad.

When you live abroad for a while, returning to the U.S. is a cultural experience. That cultural experience cannot easily be translated to those of you who live in the U.S. full time, but I wanted to try to communicate some of the things that struck me, through my conversations with the North Americans around me.

I was picked up at the San Francisco airport by Raphael, the driver who I use every time I return. He is the general manager for a limo service in the Bay Area, as well as a chauffeur. He asked me how things were going for my and my family now that we were living part-time in Mexico.

"Well, we’ve been though a lot just trying to get little things fixed in the house – everything from broken water supply lines to new locks. It’s taken nearly seven months, but we finally have curtains; working plumbing; new locks on the doors; and a lady who comes twice a week to help with cleaning. I think we’re going to enjoy it more next year."

"Why did you get new locks," he asked.

"We were robbed. Actually, we were robbed twice. They broke in once and just stole two cell phones that were left on the kitchen counter. We really weren’t sure if the phones had been stolen or if we just misplaced them. Then just after our last visit to the States, they broke in and took a brand new computer and an expensive digital camera."

"You have to be careful of that kind of thing down there," he said, looking up in the rear view mirror. "Let me tell you a story about a friend of mine from Guatemala."

I sat back and Raphael told this story.

"I have a friend who is working here in the U.S., but has been sending money back to his bank in Guatemala for years. His dream was to retire there and build a home for his family. After about five years he had saved $64,000, which was all he needed to build his house, so he and his family went there to spend some time picking out a nice lot."

"Well, shortly after they arrived they were driving around the outskirts of the city, looking for a nice place to build when a car cut them off and forced them to stop on the highway. Two men with guns got out of the car and made my friend and his wife and kids get out of the car. They made his family get into their car, and then they told him to go to his bank; draw out $64,000; and return with the money."

"Did he do it?"

"Of course! They had his wife and kids."

"So... how did they know he had $64,000 in the bank?"

"That’s a very good question. How could they have known that?"

I paused for a second, placing myself outside the comfortable context of the U.S. "It was an inside job. Someone inside the bank knew the money was there and tipped them off in exchange for a cut."

"That’s what I think," he said. Then we talked about more pleasant things.

When we got to my hotel, I thanked him, tipped him and went to my room. When I opened my bags, which I had not seen since checking in at the Alaska Airlines counter in Mexico, I found that my little Nikon digital camera was missing. The case was still in my suitcase – unzipped on both sides – but the camera missing.

The next day was a free day for me: no meetings or commitments. I had breakfast in a cafe near the hotel. Two men seated behind me were talking about a lawsuit over some property.

I sipped my cappuccino and thought back to the legal headaches and lawsuits that had come with my own experiences in real estate.

I looked out the window. People were up early, jogging by the cafe, wearing spandex.

My omelet was filled with jack cheese, spinach, and bits of real bacon, as advertised. The wheat toast lightly browned and crunchy. It was the first "American" breakfast I had eaten in months. The entire time I was eating and eavesdropping on the table behind me, I could hear Spanish being spoken in the kitchen.

This part of Marin was really beautiful – peaceful and pretty. Two attractive women wearing matching caps and t-shirts jogged by the window and smiled at me.

The conversation behind me continued on in the same vein while the two men ate their breakfast. They spoke calmly, as if the real estate lawsuit were on a par with the weather. It was another business day.

I paid the bill, which came without my asking for it. That would have been rude in a restaurant in Mexico. Bringing the bill without being asked is tantamount to shooing your customer from the premises. As I stood up to leave, the conversation behind me had turned from legal strategies to investments...

and then back to lawsuits.

Walking down the street at 8:30 am, people walked past me in groups of two or three, carrying coffee to go. I had the impression that everyone around me had something important to do.

Not me. I had a free day today – no meetings.

I decided to spend it at the mall in Core Madera. I needed a suit jacket anyway – something I had no use for on the Mexican coast. I never used to enjoy shopping before I lived abroad. Now I look forward to a day in the mall as if it were a holiday. They have everything! It’s infuriatingly difficult to find things in Mexico – basics such as clothes, furniture and paper products. A friend of mine owns a coffee shop in Puerto Vallarta, and he has continual problems finding reliable suppliers for things, like paper cups for example.

Quality is poor across the board. I have replaced all the water supply lines in my bathrooms and under the kitchen sink because they leaked. One burst while we were away, flooding the house. I replaced the interior door knob to my bedroom when it froze and simply would not open. I had my wife throw a screwdriver up to the balcony so that I could disassemble the knob from the inside and escape from my own bedroom. Have you ever had a cabinet knob come apart in your hand? It’s a surprising experience. You just don’t expect something made of brass, with no moving parts, to come apart in your hand. We drive to Wal-Mart to buy all our paper products, as Mexican made paper towels, napkins and toilet paper disintegrate when used.

I find Nordstroms and a helpful salesman fixes me up with a dark blue sports jacket and a flashy red tie. After shopping in Mexico going into a store like Macy’s or Nordstoms is like going to Disneyland. I head for the door, wearing the jacket, feeling freshly empowered to purchase anything I want. Perhaps I will stop at Radio Shack to get a battery for my car key, as the remote entry doesn’t work (again, this would be a Wal-Mart item in Mexico).

Two ladies are and a young girl are walking behind me as I reach the doors of Nordstroms, and I hold the door open for them. They are talking among themselves, and walk through without looking at me.

I follow, listening. The two women are talking about the young girl – perhaps seven or eight years old.

"And now she has a focus and a goal," One woman says.

The little girl interjects, "Yes, and when I have a focus and a goal, I’m bossy, but when I don’t, I’m not!"

I start laughing, and fall back so they can’t hear me. I can’t imagine hearing a similar conversation in Spanish while leaving Gigante supermarket. Little Mexican girls just don’t say things like, "when I have a focus and a goal, I’m bossy."

I stroll through the mall, past the deli, Bath and Body Works, various kiosks selling jewelry, facial scrubs, and vibrating massage pillows. I consider the massage pillow and decide it won’t fit in my suitcase.

I’m walking toward Radio Shack when a teenage girl approaches me and says she is doing a project for school. It involves a short questionnaire, and she only wants to talk to people "who are really cool and non-violent."

"Usually," I say, adjusting the lapels on my recently acquired blazer.

"Great, then you can help me with a contest," and she hands me a card with the number $5,000 written in red across the top.

I smell a scam, especially since the "project for school" has now become "a contest."

"What’s it for?" I ask, waiting for her to tell me that it will help get kids off drugs or something.

"It’s for my education fund," she says with a straight face. I notice that her tongue is pierced.

I just look at her.

She holds up her hand and I give her a high-five.

She keeps talking and tries to hand me a list of magazines to browse through. I don’t take it. That’s an old sales trick: you hand someone something and their first instinct is to take it. Then you have them stuck in front of you because they are holding something you gave them, and it’s awkward for them to walk away with it.

"I don’t read magazines," I say, still holding the card with $5,000 in large red print across the top.

"Do you give to doctor’s offices?"

I thought of my sports medicine doctor in Denver, who I saw a couple times a year. We had become friends, and he told me once that if he had known how little money there was in running a private practice, he would not have gone to medical school. As it was, he was raising a family and didn’t have the choice to start over. He won’t buy magazines for his waiting room, so there was really nothing to read. I thought I might get him a subscription to ESPN Magazine.

Then, suddenly I feel that I’m about to do something I really don’t want to do. "I’ll think about it while I’m in Radio Shack. When I come out will you still be here?"

"Noooo," she wails, "The contest is right now. Won’t you buy a magazine for charity? Please?"

I smile as I turn away, "You know, you’re going to do just fine without me."

I enter Radio Shack and show my car key to an employee. "Can you change the battery in this for me?"

"Nope. Can’t touch it." She says without even looking down at the key.

I look at her for a moment, trying to decide if she’s just being rude. "Why not?"

"Liability. I can’t touch the key." She is dead serious.

"Well, could you just sell me a new battery for it?"

Then she looks at the key. "Not without taking it apart. I wouldn’t know which one to sell you."

"Fine. Can you tell me where the nearest Toyota dealership is, then?" She tells me and I start toward the door, feeling a little bit numb. She can’t touch the key. Liability.

I’m done shopping, and that last conversation sort of ruined my good mood, so I head up Highway 101 to do some errands. I need to return a video cable to Best Buy, and there is a Best Buy store located about 8 or 10 miles south. I get there, return the cable, and buy a classic collection of Walt Disney’s cartoons on DVD – "Silly Symphonies, Vol. II".

These are the cartoons I watched when I was a kid, when cartoons were hand drawn on cells by real artists – before computer animation turned cartoons into flat, cheap-looking imitations of the old hand-drawn animation. I want my kids to watch quality cartoons. In fact, I’m kind of looking forward to watching these with them. Beats the hell out of Sponge Bob Square Pants.

I walk out into the parking lot, and am halfway to my car when a familiar figure comes striding toward me.

"I don’t believe it," I say out loud.

It’s the magazine girl. "Is this fate or what? Now you GOTTA buy a magazine from me."

"You followed me, didn’t you?"

"Yeah!," but I know she’s only kidding.

"How old are you?"

"Are you still in school?"

"What’s the name of the company you sell for?"

She takes out the paperwork and shows it to me. She is an independent contractor for Global Circulation Vendors. I tell her to wait a minute and pull my Blackberry out of my briefcase. I log on to the internet and search for Global Circulation Vendors. Sure enough, they have a website and they sell magazines. They also have a national contest for their independent contractors (they are careful to emphasize that point, as it means they don’t have to pay social security taxes on their earnings.) The prize for winning the contest is... $5,000.

"OK, you got me. I’ll buy a subscription to ESPN for my doctor’s office in Colorado. Can we set that up?"

"I’ll buy one. And you really know where you rank in the contest?"

What's your name?

Sammi

I believe her, and write out a check for a four-year subscription. "You know what, Sammi? You’re going to be a hell of a trial lawyer."

April 2007

>EPILOG: Sammi scammed me. It's now 6 months later, and by a curious coincidence I am back in Marin County. My doctor never received ESPN magazine. I sent a letter to Global Circulation Vendors, with a copy of my receipt. They did not respond. There is no phone number listed for them.

Here is a part I left out. When I started making out my check for $100, Sammi interrupted and told me that because the company gets so many bad checks, they will not take a check for more than $50. She asked for $50 in cash. Red flags went up in the back of my mind, but I gave her half cash and half by check anyway. Dumb. I've been scammed a few times, and should know better. The rule is: when something does not feel right (whether you are in the U.S. or in Latin America), just WALK AWAY.

My doctor will never see those magazines. Sammi put the $50 in her pocket and tore up the order form. That's why I have not heard from Global Circulation Vendors. They never got the order, and they don't want to talk to me about it. As an old sales trainer named Tommy Hopkins once said in a training tape: "All the best salesmen are behind bars." I didn't understand it at the time, but I do now. The very best sales people are so good at getting people to do what they want that they end up manipulating people. When they feel the power, it takes them down the path to the Dark Side. Still, if you get scammed more than once, shame on you.

Shame on me. Sammi won't be a trial lawyer, but someday she might need one.