Non Slip Drainage Mats Even In Mexico Bars!Posted on: May 9th, 2014 by Ben Gonzalez
While staying with my brother in Mexico, he encouraged me to try some of the finer and more ‘upscale’ eating establishments available in his neighborhood of Juarez. Think of it like Mexico City’s equivalent of Silver Lake. The first Saturday there, him and his girlfriend took me and mine to a pizza eatery built out of the basement of one of MANY historical buildings there. A Spanish colonial residence who’s exterior is meticulously preserved now surrounded by technical schools, OXXO’s, 7-Eleven’s, and streets that would make a New York pedestrian squeamish from complexity. The entrance was lined with fancy entry mats and we made our way to our table. There, we decided to order a home cooked pizza. Marinara, date, and asparagus with a faint touch of wine in the dough. It was delicious. And impressive that the cooks were able to whip this out in such a short time. Craft beers abound, we relinquished in a drunken stupor back to the apartment. I made it a point to try and remember that I got a peek at the mat behind the bar. To my non-shock, it was the very non slip drainage mats so common in bars… and provided by my place of daily employment. It seemed that even across borders, the influence of ‘mats’ followed me everywhere.
The night was kind and without incident. Until the sun came up and it’s first unfriendly beams poured in through the curtain-less guest bedroom and directly into my tired eyes. As I reached for my phone to check the time, a sudden influx of pain and nausea began to manifest within me. A low rumble and gurgle urged me to get out of bed. But my weary spirit declined and with an almost child like internal plea, I forced myself back to sleep. I closed my eyes anew, and before I could reach the sweet bliss of the dream state, the rumble and gurgle turned into a stampede of wild buffalo running from something… something terrifying. Stumbling out of bed and unable to answer my better half’s mumbled inquiry, I was sat upon the freezing cold porcelain in what seemed like a flash. To the horrible shock of my tender end, what followed was a catastrophic display of entropy in it’s rawest form. For the next 30 minutes of my life I bowed before a terrible pain and sorrow I always understood was reserved for the poor, unwitting western foodie tourist on his first, uninformed excursion to a genuine Delhi eatery.
When the carnage was over and my eyes restored focus, there I sat, hunched over and staring the very thing I had all but forgotten to think of from the night before: a non-slip drainage mat.