Hell’s Half Acre

I’m on a rare roll this morning, so I’ll try to finish the saga. So, the moto man was hanging around with Manuel and the abaniles and I simply acknowledged him and unloaded the van and made myself busy while trying to figure out what the hell the abaniles were doing at our palapa still at 4pm on a Saturday!

Manuel came over and as per his routine asked for money. I reminded him that the last time I paid him I said he’d get no more money until the job was finished. He either conveniently forgets these conversations (even if they were mere hours earlier) or just doesn’t believe me. So over and over we went; his demand that his workers be paid (I pointed out that I’d given him 7000 pesos on Tuesday and he could have paid his workers with that); my insistence he wouldn’t be paid “ni un centavito mas” until the job was done; his insistence that his workers be paid; my pointing out that if I paid in full now, they’d never show to finish it and then the moto man piped up. Apparently, his job is the equivalent of saying, “Voldemort” in Mexico. He is a sindicato and he probably has the position of a shop steward in the US. Unions here in Mexico are at about the same violence level as the unions were in the 1920’s in the US. Decisions are enforced with machetes. The sindicato insisted as well that I pay Manuel and he’d draw up papers to obligate Manuel and the abaniles to return and finish the job.

Uh, no thanks. I stood firm and refused to pay until I realized that maybe a token offering might ease the stalemate, so I offered 1500 pesos of the 6000 he wanted. Manuel then decided he was done. He was going to abandon the job and wanted to be paid for that which he’d finished. We’d get someone else to finish his work. I honestly had no problem with that but felt that he would probably owe US money. I’d paid him 75% of the job already but honestly, probably only 1/4 of the original job was left to finish. It had taken them almost a month to do 3/4 of the job and I didn’t believe that he’d have the job finished in a day (as he promised to do if I paid the remainder $6000).

I offered to find a contratista (contractor) to estimate the job left and headed off to find David, who does work here in PaaMul and owns the corner store. Once David found out that a sindicato was on the property he refused to set foot in PaaMul. He had no problem estimating the job, but AFTER Manuel and the sindicato had gone. A bit defeated, I concocted a story for Manuel and decided to stop by the security shack on the way back to confront Manuel and the sindicato. I spoke with the head of security (Sixto) who almost had a coronary when he found out a sindicato was on the property he guards. He berated the guards who let him in and headed down to our palapa. I honestly didn’t know what I’d ask of him or even what I wanted him to do; I was kind of grasping at straws at this point. Once he got to the palapa I realized what a treasure he is. He ripped Manuel up one side and down the other. He told the sindicato he was never to return and was not allowed on the property. He called Manuel on his game; telling him he sucked as a contratista (at which at sindicato told him that Manuel was merely a laborer, not a contratista; when Sixto heard this he ripped the sindicato, accusing Manuel of impersonating a contratista) and Manuel visibly crumbled. He continued to mutter that he wanted at least 5000 pesos but by the time Sixto escorted the duo off the grounds, Manuel and the abaniles vowed to return the next day (SUNDAY!) and finish the job, the sindicato knew he was not welcome but shook Sixto’s hand and everyone was “friendly”.

Next day, everyone showed and worked their collective asses off, accomplishing a week’s worth of work in one day. Manuel showed his mettle and the day before yesterday, all their work was completed. I did not give them the customary bonus; I am now in deep debt to the head of security, but I do appreciate their work and have recommended them to our neighbor from Durango (state).

So, the day before Jesse’s birthday was their last day of work and we’re now finishing up little things, deciding what we’ll do (hurricane season looms heavy in our minds) and what we’ll leave for later. And maybe, now that Manuel knows what an incredibly BAD move it was to bring in the sindicato, we might have him tile the upstairs. Every Mexican I’ve told this story to has reacted to the word, “sindicato” in the same manner as the characters in the “Harry Potter” books react to the word “Voldemort”. Scary.