So we were off on our road trip to Mexico, myself and a couple of friends who were all horrified of what lurked south of the border.
"Yo, I heard they kill white surfers for fun"
"What should we take as a weapon? I got this crowbar"
"If we get carjacked, only one of us coughs up the money, ok?"
"Man, I am not going down like this!"
But, somehow we made it. Alive, and safely on the other side of a wall that separated us from the garbage, sewage and shanty-towns. Safely, in our own little paradise that separated "us" from "them".
Later that night we hot-tubbed with other good LA folk, all grateful that they too had made it alive. They shared horror stories and chatted about how dirty, disgusting, and poor Mexico is while sipping on Margaritas.
"Eeew! There was like, a leak in the bathroom I used at the border! It was disgusting!" said one of the girls. I looked her over; blond, tan, cootie shots up to date. For a moment I had this horrifying thought about the gringos that get killed for fun. But then, an even more horrifying thought. I think I'm better than people who think they're better than other people. And really, isn't that just worse?