Isla Mujeres
Tony and I met up the other night for a business meeting aka get smashed on a Sunday. He texted me at 9:30. I rarely get any notice for a business meeting before 10 pm. And he was already in my neighborhood, which is rare. I’d just eaten four slices of meat lovers pizza and felt like shit, but I headed over to the bar anyway, and we watched one of our buddies play some tunes.
Tony’s my boss August through December, when we’re traveling around selling his hats that are made out of socks. We’re selling other stuff, too. Hoodies. Koozies. Whole lotta sock hats, though. The rest of the year we’re mostly just drinking buddies.
He asked me if I was really gonna bail on Mexico. “Just fucking come!” he kept saying. A couple months ago I was still planning on going to Mexico. Still had some savings. I sold sock hats out of a booth almost every day for the last 10 weeks of the year. Had almost $7,000 in cash on Jan. 1. All gone now. I could’ve saved better, but what are you gonna do. Anyway, I’d already told Tony I wasn’t gonna make it to Mexico, couldn’t swing it. I’m walking dogs to scrape some money together, but I’m just about broke at the moment.
Mexico is all paid for, he said. Business expense. The Annual General Meeting. I’d probably spend at least as much money hanging around in New York with no job other than a few dog walks, just being depressed. So fuck it, I said. I’ll go for a few days. He said I should probably go for more than that. Preferably the full week. Dave and Zion and Greyballs and some other guys from Toronto are all going to be there.
And let’s be honest, I can’t skip it, it’s the Annual General Meeting. Got a bunch of important conferences lined up with Tony and the rest of our degenerate coworkers who sell hats made out of socks during the holidays. Lots of big picture discussions and high-level decision-making and such. Important shit. On Isla Mujeres off the coast of Cancun.
Also, I’m thinking when we get to Mexico I can pitch Tony on some fairs upstate or in Vermont or New Hampshire, I don’t know. Somewhere that’s still a little cold in the spring. Even some weekend flea markets in the city. Somewhere I can make a little cash. I’ll haul a bunch of sock hats up to an afternoon beer festival in Queens at this point. Fucking anything. I just need some work. These rich people I’m dog-walking for are flakey as hell. Always on vacation. Or their dog has a UTI. Usually one of those two things. “Our dog has a UTI” is probably code for “we don’t feel like dealing with you today.” Either way, it’s time to start slinging sock hats again. Where, I don’t know. We can figure that out on the island. I figure that’s a good enough reason to go to Mexico with no money. “Just eat dollar tacos the whole time,” Tony said. “And don’t buy anyone else’s drinks.”
At this point, once I’m in Mexico, I might just stay there. Tony’s not a huge fan of buying round-trip tickets anyway. I might just tell him not to bother with the return flight. New York hasn’t been great. I don’t think I’ll be in a rush to get back to the city and walk dogs. I’ll just take a few breaks from strategy meetings on the beach and walk around looking for jobs on the island. Fuck it, maybe I’ll start walking dogs there? That’s probably not a thing. We’ll see. I’ll do whatever. Gonna be too hot to sling sock hats, unfortunately. I’d be down to try, though. If I can sell sock hats in Mexico, I can sell ‘em in Vermont. And if I can sell ‘em in Vermont, my ability to pay rent isn’t dependent on how many dogs get UTIs this month. Which, I swear to God, is somehow always more than it could possibly be.