For the last few months, I’ve been working at this place that is a little bit of an inconvenient drive for me. But I do it because it’s a paycheck, and I need those from time to time. Overall, the drive sucks, but the best (and worst) part of the drive is the very tail end of it, because rain, shine, and even snow, I pass through the Mexican Rave.
The Mexican Rave is actually the Consulado del Mejico, or the Mexican Consulate. I don’t know what it is exactly they do there, beyond providing a place for Mexican people can take passport photos, because they only have about three gigantic signs that says they’ll take fotos del sus passport for eight bucks, which makes me believe that there’s probably some underground passport counterfeiting going on there, but the bottom line is that it’s apparently a big deal for the Mexicans in Atlanta, because almost every morning, the street is busy with people coming in and going out of the joint.
Which is kind of the worst part, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, its that the most accurate way to tell when the driver(s) in front of you is an illegal immigrant, is they’re the ones driving precisely the speed limit, since it’s obviously the safest bet at not getting pulled over and being discovered. Ironically, being in ‘Merica, let alone Atlanta, where nobody drives the speed limit, this is the most obvious thing an illegal immigrant could possibly do to draw attention to themselves. But back to the story at hand, because of all these illegals on the street, the traffic moves very slowly, compounded when they’re braking prior to turning as slowly as possible.
So when I can’t aggressively hop into the other lane and speed past them due to oncoming traffic, I’ve found an alternative to getting pissed – thus the Mexican Rave. What I didn’t mention is that every day, the Consulate hires other Mexican people to stand outside the building, no matter the conditions outside, and wave at people, and they carry those little cone-shaped flashlights like movie ushers have while wearing fluorescent traffic vests. They also have electronic signs with the lightbulb borders, and other blinking distractions to get Mexicans to realize where they are, as if the gigantic Mexican flag waving patriotically in the courtyard weren’t enough. So in other words, with all the people wearing fluorescents, the lights, the blinking, and the volume of people, it’s basically like a rave. But a Mexican one.
So each morning I drive by the Mexican Rave, I literally start doing my best impression of Strongbad’s techno. Eventually, I’ll turn on my hazards and start blinking my high beams as I pass, but not until I know I’m never coming back here anymore. I’d hate to be followed by some peeved illegals, at precisely the speed limit.
