I woke up in my cell in a Mexican prison in a small town just outside of Monterrey. I knew I probably wouldn't make that party in Belize City, and to be quite honest, I didn't really care: my main concern was getting released and going back to the States.
Many of you are probably familiar with the great country of Belize through the TV show Flavor of Love. It's a tiny patch of land in the south eastern portion of the Yucatan Peninsula. I knew people that owned resorts down there that threw huge parties. It was to one of those parties where I was headed before I was waylaid with my travelling companion.
A one Mr. Roderick Buck jr., heir to a massive oil fortune, was also invited to the party, and he and I were the only people still in the States that were going. So I met him in San Antonio, his home town, on Wednesday night, and we took in the Spurs-Lakers game. That's when things went bad.
He insisted on driving the roughly 2000 miles from there to Belize City, because he had business to attend to in Mexico City. I was skeptical, but I relented, mostly because I'd never really seen Mexico to that extent.
We stopped in a little town outside of Monterrey to grab some food and take a load off. Roddy also wanted to get laid, and he had his eyes on our hot little waitress. Little did he or I know that that waitress was the sheriff's wife. A scuffle ensued, and I hit my head on a table in our restaurant, which rendered me unconscious. I woke up in my cell.
I had to wire a hefty sum from my bank account to pay my "fine" in order to be released. I then had to wait for the bus back to Monterrey so I could fly home. It was one of those broken down mini-bus things, filled with a whole host of unsavory characters.
I never saw Mr. Buck jr. again while I was in Mexico, but a day after I got back to Boston, I received a telegram:
Hey you nasty son of a bitch stop
Sorry about the little mishap stop
Have to do it again sometime stop
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