For about 30 minutes, I was completely out of reach of United States authorities. Nobody knew where I was. I had stealthily slipped across the border, and nobody recorded my movements. One minute, I was in the United States; the next, I wasn't.
OK, it wasn't so stealthy. I just walked through a turnstile, and then another, and then I was in Mexico. Apparently, that's all it takes to cross the border in that direction.
I'm a guy who's been held up by zealous Customs agents who thought it was their duty to prevent me from going into Canada. I'm used to having my passport stamped, my picture taken, my iris scanned, everything short of a full body-cavity search.
To get to Mexico, however, all you have to do is pay the guy at the border parking lot $7 to keep an eye on your crappy rental car and walk for about five minutes. One turnstile, two turnstiles, and there you are, in Tijuana.
Frankly, the place kind of freaked me out a bit. I called The Wife as soon as I was across the border. "Don't drink the water, don't drink anything with ice in it, and don't eat anything," she said. "And watch out; the little girls selling beads are actually pickpockets." Just then, a little girl came up to me offering to sell me beads. I politely told her "No," put my hand on my wallet (which I had placed in my front pocket after buying some pesos) and walked on a bit.
In every direction, I saw ... well, I didn't see taco stands; I didn't see souvenir shops; I didn't see restaurants and bars. I saw ... pharmacies. Lots and lots of pharmacies.
This is what Tijuana offers tourists. Not a taste of Mexico, but relief from the fucked-up United States health care system. An opportunity to beat Big Pharma at its own game.
Past the first wave of pharmacies, there was one restaurant, which sported big Corona banners and looked very much like a Mexican restaurant you'd find in St. Petersburg, Fla., or Rockford, Ill. I decided not to walk past the aggressive shopkeepers down to Avenida de la Revolucion. I turned around and headed for the northbound border crossing.
I walked past a long line of folks who I presumed were waiting to cross the border. I kept walking, though, following the gringo family that seemed to know where it was going. After about 150 people, I determined the line was for the U.S. immigration office. This is where people who were not carrying U.S. passports had to wait. I walked past all those people and went on through Customs, where I was subject to the wary eyes of the agents, a scan of my passport, and a muttered admonition to "have a good day."
We're trying so hard to keep those people out. They're trying so hard to get here. Why? It's not because we have more pharmacies. It's because they believe in the promise of a better life in the U.S. And many of them are willing to work their asses off for it.
Take a look the next time you drive past a strawberry patch or a construction site. Listen to the Spanish flowing from the tongues of the workers. Say "hola" to the woman who's cleaning your toilet at the next hotel you stay in. Then, take a look at the guy with the sign standing in the median. Bet he doesn't speak Spanish. Now tell me who has the sense of entitlement.
These people come over, and we give them jobs. We give them jobs because it helps us balance our books better. We give them jobs because, in the words of The (Holy Crap, This Dumbass is the) Leader of the Free World, "they'll do jobs that Americans won't do." You want to prosecute somebody? Don't prosecute the illegal workers; prosecute the companies who hire them illegaly. Yeah, that's gonna happen.
All I needed to go south was to spin two turnstiles. All they need to go north is to stand in line for hours, days, weeks, years, and beg for permission.
As I emerged from the border crossing, safely back on American soil, with my steps having been scanned and noted by the Department of Homeland Security, I crossed the pedestrian bridge over Interstate 5 in the San Ysidro neighborhood of San Diego. The first thing you see at the foot of that bridge? An outlet mall. God bless America.
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