Clueless on the Mexican Boardwalk 

I felt hot, sweaty, and exhausted after spending hours in the Mexican sun. I tried to stay in the shade and undercover, but the searing heat and the sun‘s southern rays pierced my pallid North American winter skin. 

Seeking relief, I strolled into a store on the Malecon – the Boardwalk – presenting a particularly attractive window display.  Gleaming silver jewelry, decorative and functional articles  – bracelets and necklaces, ornaments, cups and plates – beckoned me inside. 

A cool breeze greeted me as soon as I opened the door. The chilled air delighted. I wandered around, in no hurry to re-enter the outside sauna. The end of my Puerto Vallarta vacation loomed and no new trinket adorned my body. I wanted a wearable souvenir. A necklace or bracelet seemed a more desirable, long-lasting remembrance than one more T-shirt stuffed in a drawer.

My eyes could not initially focus as the vast array of objects confronting me. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, and waist-level glass cabinets formed two large semicircles in the center of the showroom. Hundreds of pieces, maybe thousands, from tiny earrings to sizable trays and bowls, packed the displays. The idea of choosing just one trinket appeared daunting. 

Customers and sales clerks swarmed about the shop. Tourists roamed around, pointing, whispering to companions, rustling shopping bags, digging into handbags for cash or credit cards. Salesmen and women lurked about, discreetly positioning themselves near potential customers, ready to pounce when anyone showed interest in an item. I suspect they also scrutinized the crowd for possible shoplifters. 

I walked leisurely through the store, one small step at a time as I examined bracelets, necklaces, and earrings. Some merchandise, pricey articles such as platters and pitchers, were secured in locked cases. Most of the jewelry was accessible to pick up and examine. Savvy marketing mavens know women want to touch a treasure before purchasing. Clerks encouraged customers to hold and ‘try on’ the merchandise; they were then one step closer to buying the item. Which one should I get? They asked themselves, their companions, and anyone within hearing distance.

I scrutinized each item that caught my fancy, twirled it around to examine it from every angle, and held the piece up to the light. After a while – a half hour? an hour? – I lost track of time – my search narrowed to two bracelets. I slipped one on each wrist, an effective way to determine which one would go home with me.

As I held my hands high and inspected the jewelry, a salesman approached. Or more accurately, swooped down on me. Dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and polished shoes, ‘my’ salesman smiled and held out his hand in greeting.

“Lovely,” he said, “just lovely on you,” he gushed in a thick accent.

I pointed to one of the bracelets and asked, “How much?” I did not see price tags or posted prices anywhere. 

The salesman smiled, “Ah, just a moment please.” He pulled a calculator out of his jacket pocket and began punching keys. 

“This one is,” and he pointed to the number 290 displayed on the screen.

“And this one,” he indicated the second bracelet and jabbed more numbers, ” is two-eighty”.

I calculated the price in my head. About 25 American dollars, mentally figuring the peso to dollar exchange rate. A very good price. I smiled, nodded, and pointed to the second bracelet, “I believe I will take this one. It’s beautiful.” 

I could not wait to leave the shop with a gleaming new bangle. I handed the salesman peso notes totaling 30 US dollars and expected change. But he did not dig in his pocket for cash, or beckon me to the cashier’s counter. Instead he hesitated, apparently unsure what to do – didn’t he understand me? – and shot me a weird look. He then spoke slowly and distinctly so I understood every word of his accented English, “Excuse me, miss. The price is in dollars. Two. Hundred. Eighty. Dollars.”

Embarrassed and feeling unbelievably foolish, I dropped my head low to avoid the man’s gaze, grabbed the peso notes out of his hand, stuffed them in my pocket and slinked out of the shop. Not looking back, I thought I heard the man laugh. Probably my imagination, but I am not so sure.

“Loco gringo!” he probably whispered to the other sales reps as he watched this stupid American woman who wasted his time trudge down the street. 

I should have known…air conditioning, spiffily dressed sales staff, no merchandise prices, locked cases…of course this was an upscale boutique catering to the affluent, a category my financial status prevented me from joining. How could I have missed the clues? Evidently the heat, the appeal of the baubles, and my eagerness to acquire a wearable ornament of my trip got in the way of my common sense.

No new silver jewelry bedecked my body when I boarded my plane for home the next day.