Tag Archives: el jefe

Drinking in Cabo San Lucas

He was pissed and asked, “Who are you gonna believe, a Mexican prostitute or me?”

Rewind to 2005 when I was living in California.  I was the Internet Sales Manager for a small, successful Chrysler-Jeep dealership, was writing part time and had just started doing some radio.  My Internet sales team was crushing the retail guys month after month.  My group of 5 was putting out as many or more cars every month as the retail crew of 10 was.  I was making money.  Life was good.

On April 1 the owner announced a sales contest for the retail department: whichever team of five sold more cars during the month of April got to go to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico for three nights during May—all expenses paid.  Nice!

I informed the owner that I wanted my crew in on the contest and was told absolutely not.  The idea of the contest was to get the retail guys motivated and he already knew that my crew would easily beat each team.  I told the owner that I wanted to go on the trip as a reward for all the money my staff made him each month.  He thought about it a second and said no.  This was a retail contest and he didn’t know that he could afford to send me along with them.

I was not taking no for an answer and I countered back with this question, “If my team can sell more than the retail department AND if we can out-gross them, can I go?”  He finally relented and said ok, but we had to have more cars and higher gross.  Fall short by one car or by a dime and I wasn’t going on the trip.  Suffice it so say that my team had a record month and in mid May I was packing for three nights in Cabo San Lucas!

There were seven of us going on the trip—five sales guys, the General Sales Manager and myself.  We met at the dealership on a Tuesday morning and were driven to the airport for the short flight to Cabo San Lucas—the southern-most city on the Baja Peninsula.  We landed, grabbed our bags and headed to customs.

Mexico has a very scientific way of figuring out which bags get checked and which ones don’t.  As you go through the line at customs you push a button on the bottom of something that looks like a stoplight.  If it lights up green, you get to go on through.  If it’s red, they search your bags.  I consider it to be technology as its finest.

Everyone got the green light, except for The Comedian.  I call him The Comedian not because he was funny (he really wasn’t) but because he did stand-up a couple times a week at open-mic nights and occasionally he pulled a gig at a bar where they paid him $20 and threw a couple drinks his way.

His bag was searched and we grabbed the van we had waiting to take us to our hotel.  I was set to room with The Comedian.  This was going to be an interesting trip.  The Comedian was a total horn-dog.  He spent the entire 25 minute van ride from the airport telling us all how we was gonna be getting laid every night and how the senoritas weren’t going to be able to resist him.  We all begged to differ.   I had no plans to get laid in Mexico and I wasn’t dating anyone back home.  I was an American Free Agent and I figured I would lay low and just take things as they happened.

We got to our room and no sooner was my bag on the bed then The Comedian was asking if I had an empty Red Bull can.  I turned and looked at him with a bit of surprise and asked if he was serious.  He apparently was totally serious and I told him that as a matter of fact I did have an empty can in my pocket.  “Really?”  He asked.  “No,” I replied.  “Why the hell would I have an empty Red Bull can in my pocket?”

I asked why he needed the can and immediately The Comedian whipped out a bag of weed from his suitcase.  Dude brought marijuana from California into Mexico on a plane and was gonna make a homemade bong!  “How the F did you get that through customs?”  I asked him.  Apparently he had the weed in a Ziploc bag and the bag was wrapped in tinfoil, which was in another Ziploc bag, which was stuffed inside a jar of Vicks.  He said the menthol smell would mask the weed odor and he was pretty proud of himself for getting it through customs.

The leader of the pack was our GSM, El Jefe.  El Jefe was a nice guy and a bit of a party animal.  He was a little on the hefty side and very goofy.  He enjoyed regaling us all with his stories of what he and his wife had done the night before along with the details of how and where.  On a normal day it wasn’t fun to listen to, but it was even worse when he spent three solid days drinking.  I tried to put as much of it out of my mind as I could, but suffice it to say that when we returned, I probably could have given her gynecologist a complete run down on her inner workings and been pretty accurate.

The last full day in Mexico we took a four-hour booze and snorkeling cruise.  For the low price of $15 each we went on a boat for four hours and saw the tip of Baja (which was kind of cool) and they took us snorkeling.  As an added bonus, we had all the Dos Equis that we could drink.  Let me just say that seven car guys can put away a lot of beer in four hours.

After the cruise we made it back to the hotel, got cleaned up and went out for a nice dinner.  We were grubbing away when El Jefe announced that after dinner he had a special bar to take us to celebrate our last night in Paradise.  I drank just as much as everyone else that day and I found it odd that I was the only one who thought the scenario sounded a little iffy.

Of the seven of us, four were married and three (including myself) were single.  When we arrived at the bar we each got a beer and El Jefe gathered us in a group and announced that this was the best bar for getting laid in all Cabo and that whatever we wanted that night was on him.  I looked around the place and my first reaction was that it was not nearly as classy as the place in Tijuana and that the women in here seemed to be of a below average look.  WAY below average!

The only two that decided to take El Jefe up on his offer were The Comedian and El Jefe himself.  Each picked out a woman and they were off to some unknown place.  The rest of us laughed at how stupid they both were and kept drinking (on El Jefe of course).  15 minutes later El Jefe came strolling in through a door and had a big smile on his face.  I asked him how it went, considering that he was married and all.  He got a serious look on his face and informed me that he would never cheat on his wife, so he just got oral sex.  Freakin brilliant!

It was another 15 minutes before The Comedian came back from his rendezvous and he too had a huge smile on his face.  He started telling everyone how he “nailed her hard”.  I looked at him for a second, and then went over to one of our group who was Mexican.  I told him to go ask the hooker what happened and he came back and informed me that nothing happened because The Comedian couldn’t even get it up!

That of course was information I was unwilling to keep to myself and I informed him that I knew what happened, or rather didn’t happen, in the room.  He was pissed and asked, “Who are you gonna believe, a Mexican prostitute or me?”  It was a unanimous six-of six.  Each of us believed the ho.

There was much more drinking that night and when it was time to leave for the airport The Comedian was still in the room, trying his hardest to smoke every last bit of what he brought with him.  Once back at the dealership everyone wanted to know how the trip went and of course the first story was how The Comedian couldn’t get it up with a prostitute.  The weed story remained our little secret.  Until today…


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