Lube

 

Scott and I had started spending a bit of time in Mexico during the winter.  We rented a small apartment, worked on learning Spanish, and immersed ourselves in the culture.  We loved the people, the food, the heat and humidity, everything.  

We had purchased some bicycles in the town where we stayed.  They were the perfect method of getting around town since we didn't rent a car while we were there.  One day, Scott was doing some maintenance on the bikes and realized both of their chains needed lubricating.  We walked into town and found a combination hardware store/pharmacy/fishing tackle store.  

"Perfect," Scott said as we walked through the entrance.  "I bet they have it here."

An older man, presumably the owner, stood behind the counter, conversing with another older man who was standing in front of it.  

When Scott and I entered the store, both men turned and greeted us.  "Buenos dias!"

"Buenos dias," we both replied.  Scott approached the counter and, at that moment, realized he had no idea how to ask for bicycle chain lube.  Neither did I.  We stared at each other, then at the older man behind the counter, then at each other.  

Finally, Scott said, "Lube?" and made a motion with his finger, as if tracing the outline of a bicycle chain.  At least, that's what I saw.  

The old man behind the counter gave Scott a long, hard look, then looked at me, then back to Scott.  He raised an eyebrow, slowly turned, and reached under the counter behind him.

What the heck is this guy's deal? I thought.  Why is he being so weird?

The man dug around under the counter for a few moments, found what he was looking for, and held it out to Scott.  He had grabbed a tube of KY Jelly.  Immediately upon seeing it, Scott and I exploded with laughter.  The more one of us laughed, the more the other laughed, and soon I was doubled over, clutching my stomach, while Scott was leaning on the counter.  Tears streamed down my face as we both gasped for air, laughing and laughing.  The older men stared at us like we had just sprouted three extra heads.  

Between laughing fits, I managed to say, "No, no, no.  Lube for my bicycle.  Lub para mi bici."

"Tu bici?" the owner asked.

"Si, si, mi bici!" I gasped as I laughed and laughed.

"Tu bici!" the man said, and both men collapsed with laughter, along with us.  

We laughed and laughed, so much so that an older woman emerged from somewhere in the back of the store to see what all the fuss was about.  The owner explained to her the misunderstanding, and she fell into fits of laughter.  Soon, another woman materialized from the depths.  The owner once again explained, and she too joined in the laugh party.  Random people on the street heard the commotion and walked into the store to see what was happening.  With each new person, the owner gave the story again.  I didn't fully understand everything he was saying, but I am quite sure that with each new telling, the story grew bigger and bigger.

Soon, a crowd had gathered in the store, all laughing, hugging, slapping each other and us on the backs, retelling the story to each other with embellishments galore.  The tube of KY Jelly sat on the counter for all to see.  

After a long while, the laughter began to subside.  The crowd thinned.  The women dispersed to whatever corners of the store they had resided.  And finally, the owner once again reached beneath the counter.  This time, he pulled out a bottle of bicycle chain lube.

As soon as he handed it to Scott, we all started laughing again.  Scott paid for the chain lube, we shook hands with the owner and his friend, and walked out of the store into the bright sun.

"Wow," Scott said as I wiped more tears from my eyes.  "That really escalated quickly."

I grabbed his hand and we walked back to the apartment, laughing all the way.