“Do You Know Who I Am?”
I served a Mormon mission in Tijuana, Mexico. We were switching partners that day, so I put my old partner on a bus to Tecate and waited for my new one to arrive on a hill by our house next to the freeway. I planned things so I’d be by myself for like 30 minutes.
Anyways, there was a huge wreck on the freeway and my new partner was 2 hours late. I was sitting there minding my Mormon business, my legs dangling over a ledge that overlooked a 30 foot drop onto the side of the freeway, when this cholo guy came and sat down by me. “Uh, oh. This guy is going to be trouble.”
He offered me a cigarette.
We sat there in silence for a few minutes.
Then out of no where, the guy pulls a freaking ice pick out of his pocket and brings it towards my gut. I grabbed his wrist before he was able to poke me with it.
“Dame tu wallete!” he cried. (Give me your wallet!)
I grabbed his other wrist and squeezed both of his wrist as hard as I could. I looked him right in the eye and growled:
“Sabes quien soy yo?” (Do you know who I am?)
“No. Quien eres tu?” (No, who are you!)
“Soy un representante de Jesucristo.” (I’m a representative of Jesus Christ.)
The little cholo bitch starts bawling his eyes out as soon as I said that. Seriously. He started crying. He dropped the ice pick, put his hands in his face and cried.
“Lo siento, hermano!” (I’m sorry brother!)
He started telling me all his problems, how he needed money for the bus to get to Tecate. I laughed and said he could have just asked instead of trying to stab me with an ice pick. I gave him some money along with a card to get a Book of Mormon. (Hey, I had to take advantage of the opportunity.)
We shook hands and parted ways.