Quince Dias
Apparently, it is considered rude in Mexico to say "No" or "I don't know." Instead, they will just give an answer- even though it may not be completely truthful. I realized tonight that it's a lot like talking to a small child- you don't want to make them cry, so you don't say the word "No," you say "we'll see," or "maybe next time," or some other creative but vague answer.
For instance, maybe you are looking for a stainless steel screw (hypothetically). You go to one ferreteria (hardware store) and they don't have what you need, so you ask if they know anywhere else that might have it. They say something about a store three or four blocks down on the right. You smile, say thank you, and walk around town for another two or three hours, never finding the store, until you are so tired you decide to just get dinner and give up the hunt until another day.
Late one night there was a huge storm that dumped several inches on us. Our dinghy was still in the water, so Mark got out of bed, took the outboard motor off the dinghy, hoisted the dinghy onto the davits (dinghy-holders), took the dinghy plug out to drain the 10 inches of rain water, and then got back in bed.
That was the last time we ever saw the dinghy plug.
No problem, we thought, we'll just go to Zaragoza, the very large and over priced marine store in town. They have several dinghies in stock, and they do carry dinghy plugs, but the day we went they didn't have any in stock. We went to the second, smaller location, and inquired there. After much translation and slow explanation, we came to understand that the dinghy plugs would arrive in "quince dias." This was the first time I had heard the phrase.
I repeated back what I understood, like a good active listener, and carefully chose the term "two weeks, more or less" to make sure I understood. "Si," the older man said with a smile, "you understand Spanish very well!" Muchas gracias all around. I left the store and told Mark it would be about two weeks.
Two weeks later, mas o menos (more or less), we returned to Zaragoza, and Mark inquired about the plugs. The employee looked up some information on his computer. "Sorry, senor, the plugs have not arrived yet. Probably two weeks more."
While waiting to acquire a proper plug for the dinghy, we built our own high-tech variety. Pictured above is our homemade dinghy plug -- a cork from a wine bottle, wrapped in black electrical tape- resting atop an advertisement for the new Zaragosa super store opening soon.
Two weeks later, sweet, naive Mark returns to the store and inquirs again. "Sorry, senor," says the clerk. "Really?" Mark asks, genuinely surprised, "because two different people have told me that it would be here in two weeks." "Sorry, senor," the clerk says again.
I pull Mark aside, and share with him my new theory on quince dias. Quince dias is a phrase that, literally translated, means fifteen days. We are slow learners, but we have finally caught on that it doesn't really mean fifteen days. It really means "maybe someday, maybe not."
Our current plan is to leave Puerto Vallarta on November 1, which is in "quince dias, mas o menos."
I LOVE your stories!!! You two are both going to become writers when you return. However, I’m not so sure that your stories would be so good if you were here in Johnson County. So you need to start publishing some of this stuff NOW!!!
Hey Look, just wanted u to know that I have only read the first few sentences and I am already laughing. Now, one or both of you need to write a book, for real. Ok, let me get back to the story, thanks for the laff and the future ones in advance. I hope all is w ell . -Darlene
This is SO funny. Does make you wonder, though, how people in this culture do business with each other.