And now for the FINALE!

Some of you will remember that two weeks ago I published the last of my Adventures in Pension Land. As anyone who has dealt with a government agency knows, things are never quite over, especially when you write them irate letters mentioning the many discrepancies, erroneous information, lack of service, wasted time, useless paperwork, and just plain injustice that they cause.

Well, I wrote my irate letters, emails in fact. I wrote to several people, mostly the national director, some of his staff, and the regional director of the state (Nuevo León) where I had had to conduct all of my requests for a pension.

The first to answer was Maria Magdalena Perales Cosain whose position according to what was stated under her name in the email is Coordinator of Public Relations (Coordinación de Relaciones Públicas).

She wrote to me and asked for me telephone number, which I gladly gave her.

Since her telephone call was not forthcoming, I emailed and asked her if she was going to call at all. I then got a phone call from her.

The gist of her phone call was to defend the IMSS refusal to give me a pension. She said that she had looked up my case and that according to Article blah, blah, blah, and Article blah, blah, blah, the IMSS was within its right to deny me a pension.

After I explained that she was not telling me anything I did not already know, I said that I did not believe that I had not paid for my SS for more than 402 weeks, 98 short of the 500 I needed to collect my pension. I explained that the people at the IMSS Sub-Module 4 had said that the IMSS had started computerizing the weeks paid as of 1982. So, I believed that in the paper archives from 1967 to 1981, there must be some trail of the weeks I paid in those 15 years of work.

"I can't believe that I did not pay any SS for those 15 years," I said.

She argued that indeed the SS system started computerizing the paid weeks in 1982 but that for workers who had started paying before that time, "an algorithm" was used to calculate the "probable" weeks I might have paid before that time.

So, a life time of work, hundreds of thousand of pesos paid by me and my employers, and these bureaucrats leave a worker's pension up to some damned algorithm?

I said to this woman that I understood that they could hide behind their laws and regulations and deny me a pension. But, I said, it is precisely those laws that are unjust.

I also complained that I had not received any information or help of any kind from their hundreds of employees and in fact, they seemed to do everything possible to hinder or make difficult the requests for pension. Never mind that they offered no information, never mind that they offer no guidance or help, never mind that they don't have things as simple as signs to help one find the right office, never mind that a simple sheet or pamphlet with simple instructions would go a long way to saving a worker time and money while requesting a pension, never mind all of that...what I wanted to know was:

WHY DID AN EMPLOYEE OF THE IMSS SAY TO ME THAT THE IMSS WAS NOT IN THE BUSINESS OF GRANTING PENSIONS, THAT IT WAS IN THE BUSINESS OF DENYING PENSIONS?

I also said I thought it was unjust that I had to go back to work and pay SS for another year JUST SO I COULD BE REINSTATED IN THE SYSTEM!

She counter argues that the IMSS has an employment "bank" (banco de empleo) that helps people in such cases to find a job.

WELL, WHY THE HELL DID YOUR PEOPLE NOT TELL ME THAT?  I asked.

Anyway, of course, she was not phoning me to help me. Like all good bureaucrats, she was phoning me to restate the case of the IMSS and saying that they were within their right to deny me a pension.

WELL, LA-DI-FREEKING-DA! Thank you, Ms. Perales, for calling me to tell me I am F...well, denied a pension.

Not to be outdone, I also got an email from Natividad Elia Méndez López; her email says that she is the Head of the Benefits Department (Titular de la Jefatura de Prestaciones).

Her litany was much the same: they were within their rights to deny me a pension due to Article X, Y Z, and so on.

THE IMSS PEOPLE ARE VERY GOOD AT TELLING YOU WHY THEY WON'T GIVE YOU ANYTHING; AND THEY ARE VERY BAD AT TELLING YOU HOW YOU CAN GET ANYTHING.

Both of the persons WHO CONTACTED ME are probably very happy that I have withdrawn my savings in my AFORE and have thus terminated all possibility of ever getting a pension, thus cutting off all ties with the IMSS.

WRONG!

I AM GOING TO START A CAMPAIGN ON SOCIAL MEDIA TO INFORM AND WARN OTHER WORKERS OF THE INCOMPETENCE, LACK OF GOOD WILL, AND SHEER DISREGARD FOR THE NEEDS OF WORKERS BY THE IMSS.

I am sure most of us are already aware of it but perhaps we can avoid some of us falling into the same traps I fell into.

Incompetents and uncaring bureaucrats like the ones I met, and the ones I have been talking to, should NOT be handling the well being of Mexican workers, especially in their old age. The incredible insensitivity of these so-called state workers has left the majority of people who have worked all of their lives without any source of income or health care.

BUREAUCRATES OF THE IMSS, I WILL SEE YOU IN TWITTER, FACEBOOK, WEB CAMPAIGNS AND ANY OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA SITE THAT I CAN THINK OF.

FIRST OF ALL, I AM GOING TO DEMAND THAT YOU ANSWER THE QUESTION YOU HAVE REFUSED TO ANSWER:

HOW MUCH OF THE BUDGET OF THE IMSS GOES TOWARD PAYING THE SALARIES AND THE PENSION PLANS OF THE BUREAUCRATS THAT WORK FOR THE IMSS?

And you, my dear readers, please re-twit, re-post, or send to your lists this blog entry. Sorry if I am not my usual funny self, but this is no laughing matter.

BTW, I AM GOING TO TRANSLATE ALL THE BLOG ENTRIES OF "ADVENTURES IN PENSION LAND" AND THEY WILL BE THE START OF A BLOG REGARDING THE IMSS.

Adventures in Pension Land - The Final

You, the guy in Russia who—for God knows what reason—reads my blog will remember that I was denied a pension because—according to the Social Security System—I had not paid my Social Security for the proper amount of weeks to said system.

Never mind that I had worked since 1967 and I, or my employers, had paid religiously; never mind that I had paid voluntary Social Security for my mother for years; never mind that I could prove that I had worked for several employers for a total of at least 18 years, that if you do the math (18 x 52 = 936 weeks) you would come up with more than enough weeks to warrant a pension.

All of this had meant nothing to the Social Security System.

Trying to see if there was a solution (i. e. a logical and reasonable way of getting the Social Security to acknowledge my payments) I had gone to the Sub-delegation to inquire about a "recount" only to be told that I had been dropped from the System because I had not paid any Social Security since 1999.

OK, so granted that that was true. "You mean to say," I queried the fellow who was telling me that if I wanted a recount, I would have to go back to work for a year so I could be "reinstated" in the system, "you mean to say that from 1967 to 1999, which is a total of 32 years, and given that God or the Universe have not changed the amount of weeks in a year, that out of the 1664 weeks of that time period, I only paid Social Security for 402?"

"Yep," said the fellow and he bid me good day with a smile. I wondered if he, being an employee of the IMSS, would have as much trouble getting HIS pension.

So, given the boot in the rear end that I got from the IMSS, the only thing left to do was to get the money that I and my employers had saved for my retirement, i. e. the so-called AFORE.

In the taxi I took to the bank where I was going to claim my savings, I told the driver my story. He said,

"That's why I don't pay Social Security."

"You mean to say that you taxi drivers don't have Social Security?"

"Nope," he said. "What's the use? They are going to find a way to deny it anyway. And a lot of people say that they are going to go broke soon and they will stop paying pensions. Their hospitals are a mess so I go to a private doctor anyway."

This is recurrent comment regarding Social Security which I hear from a lot of people. It is not only a common worker like a taxi driver that repeats it; I have friends who have been in business for years, and who have been educated in the best universities—they too believe that the SS system will soon go bust.

HELOOOO, SOCIAL SECURITY! ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION? Most people in Mexico believe you will either cheat them out of their pensions or that you will stop paying the few pensions that you ARE paying because you will go broke! YOU HAVE DONE A LOUSY JOB NOT ONLY PAYING PENSIONS BUT IN INFORMING PEOPLE WHAT IS GOING ON!

The taxi dropped me off at the BANAMEX module that handles the AFORE accounts. I took a number (Oh, God, how many numbers must one take in the world before we can find peace?) and waited...and waited...and waited.

Fortunately, the girl executive who called me into her office was very efficient. She took my "denial of pension", processed it, and within fifteen minutes she had the proper papers for me to sign. I did and she said,

"Now you will have to come back in two weeks to claim your money."

"What? Why?"

"Well, it is not up to us," she said. "The request has to go through several government offices and it takes them two weeks or so to process it."

It seems the government is not aware that we are in the computer age.

She wrote the date I should come back on my paperwork and also gave me her email so I could check back with her to see if the money had been freed.

Sigh! Off I went: back to Dolores Hidalgo on the night bus. (There are no direct flights to Dolores. Why? There is no airport in Dolores or even close by). Six hours later, at 4:30 in the morning, I was trudging along the quiet street of Dolores.

Fast forward two weeks. I email the girl in BANAMEX and she replies promptly that my money is ready to be collected. Off I go on a bus. Six and a half hours later I am taking a taxi from the Central Bus Station in Monterrey and I am headed for the BANAMEX module to collect my "pognon", as "Les Tontons Flingueurs" put it.

At the BANAMEX module I was told I could go directly to the "Client Services" window. I could claim my money there—but I had to (sigh) take a number. I did. It was 32 and the number on the counter was 29. Well, that's not too bad, I though. Wrong!

OK, so now I am sitting before the "Client Services" window along with the other two people who had numbers before mine. I look at the corresponding window and notice that there is NO ONE there! Well, me thinks, the girl must be in the "powder room" or somewhere like that. She will be back soon. Wrong!

An hour later, no girl. Empty window. Next to the "Cient Services" window is another window that is happily doing "services" for other customers. When that girl was free I saunter up and ask,

"Excuse me, where is the person that is supposed to be in the "Client Services" window?"

"Oh, she will be back soon. You see, she has two jobs, so she is at the other job now."

"And, pray tell, when will she be free from her "other" job and come to do this one?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said smiling beatifically as she flapped her false eyelashes.

Oh, that did it! Boy was my dander up!

I spied a guy with a suit and a tie. That must be the manager, I thought. I got to him just before he punched the code to go through a secure door and into the back office.

"Are you the manager," I asked.

"Why, yes," he said.

"Would you step this way, please? Can you read what it says in the far window?"

"Yes," he said a bit puzzled.

"Do you agree with me that it says, 'Client Services'?"

"Yes, yes, what is..."

"Then why the Hell is there no person there to give us clients the services we require!?"

He was, uh—how shall I put it—taken aback.

"Uh, I am sorry," he stammered, "how can I help you?"

"First of all, get someone to give the people who have been waiting for an hour the services they require. Now as for me, I have come on a damned bus 500 kilometers to collect the money from my AFORE. So, how about it? Give it to me."

"Please come this way," he said and he took me to his desk.

Before he looked up my file, he called someone over and asked them to tell the girl in "Client Services" that there were people waiting for her.

The man told me that it was his last day on the job. He was being promoted to a bigger branch office. (Must be for the fine services he offered on this one, I thought.) He quickly got to the bottom of things and soon my money was in an investment account with a bit left over so I could (finally) buy my desired MacBook Air!

I called my son and he took me to the nearest Apple distributor. I got my beautiful MacBook Air and a Magic mouse! Ah, the wonders a Apple technology. I love both things, but that is another story.

So, brrrrrummm, back I went to Dolores on the night bus.

Well, that's the end of it, I thought. WRONG!

About a week after I had "finished" with the Adventures in Pension Land, I got an email from the girl in the BANAMEX module. She told me that the SAR, (Sistema del Ahorro para el Retiro, the System for Saving for Retirement) had kept 10% of my money, and that if I didn't claim it within 20 days, they would consider it a "voluntary donation" to the government's SAR.

Now, think about this: why, if there is an AFORE (which is saving the money they take from your paycheck and from your employer so that you can "supplement" the pension the government is going to give you); and there is the IMSS (the Social Security System), the INFONAVIT (which is supposed to help you save for a house); and I don't know how many agencies that are supposed to give you money back (which they have taken from you throughout your working life) when you retire, why is there yet ANOTHER system, the SAR?

Who the hell created such a mess of agencies and systems and what not, that are not only costly to run but are so inefficient that they make a mess of things, in fact, make it impossible to get a pension unless you hire someone to wade through the mess? And even then, who knows if you get the damned pension or if the IMSS won't go broke in a couple of years and you will get nothing?

Well, tired of busses, I decided to take a flight from Mexico City to Monterrey to claim that last portion of money. Even if I broke even with the cost of the flight, I would not let the government have a single penny of my money.

I had been invited to a friend's birthday in Puebla, so it would be an opportunity to take a bus to Mexico City, go to Monterrey on an Interjet flight, and come back to Mexico City to go on to Puebla for my friend's birthday.

This time things went smoothly (almost). I got to BANAMEX, got (sigh) my number and waited for the "Client Services" girl to call me up. (This time there WAS a girl at the window!). When my turn came up, I said,

"I have come to claim the portion of the money the SAR kept. I have recently retrieved my AFORE but the SAR portion was not included."

She looked at me as if I was speaking Upper Babylonian or Ancient Greek or a combination of both.  She hit the panic button (literally). The manager came running. (The new manager was a woman. I don't know why women complain about equal job placement: they seem to be running everything nowadays, but that's another story.)

"What is the problem?" asked the Manageress.

"This man says that we have to pay him...what was it, sir?"

I explained to the Manageress what I wanted and told her to consult the girl who had warned me about the money the SAR had kept. The Manageress when off to consult with the girl executive and back she came.

"I will have to see if you are on the list," she said.

That sounded ominous so I asked, "What list?"

"The list the SAR puts out what authorizes us to give back the money."

"What!? It is my money. Who the hell are they to say if I can or can't retrieve it?"

"That's the way it is," she shrugged.

Off she went. I sat down and waited...and waited...and waited. An hour later, she came back with a printed list.

"It seems you are on the list. We will pay you the money."

She gave the "Client Services" girl a printed sheet that authorized the payment.

Well, NOW it will finally be over, I thought. WRONG!

The Client Services girl clicked and clacked on her keyboard and then said, "OK, the request has been put through. It will take an hour for the SAR to approve it and we will give you the money then."

I was dumbfounded. They just refused to make things easy for me! I just sat down and stared at the wall for an hour. After that, she called me, gave me the money and I left without saying another word.

Tomorrow I will write an EPILOG. I have emailed a couple of the Directors of the IMSS, and their reply and my reply to their replies, are worth a mention.

A trip to San Miguel...almost without incident

OK, so the idea was to go to San Miguel to pay my credit cards at the bank, have a drink at Hank's (one of the best bars in Mexico) and then a nice meal at the same place. We would stock up on wine at the "La Europea" that has a nice selection (although the wines are a bit on the young side).

Right, so the night before I say,

"We should take the ten o'clock bus so we can have plenty of time to do our stuff before lunch."

Of course that was the kiss of death to any plans that I make. It is like saying to C, "Why don't you find a series of ways to make us lose as much time as possible and get terribly confused at the same time?"

CUT TO:

INTERIOR, OUR BEDROOM, NEXT MORNING

(I am sleeping peacefully, dreaming of chasing a blond down the beach in Biarritz, and just as about I am to catch her...a scream!)

"Oh, my God! Look at my feet!" said C.

"Whaaaaa? Whasss...uh, where's the blon...uh... I mean whazamatter?"

"Look at my feet! They're alike balloons!

"Well, yeah, they do look a bit out of shape there..."

"Out of shape? They look like those tamales they sell here.

Indeed they did. So, I suggested,

"Look, we'll stop by to see the doctor on the way to the bus station. I'm sure he'll give you something for them, check your blood pressure, or whatever and then we can go on to the bus station 'cause I do have to get to San Miguel to pay my credit cards. What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock," she said.

"OK, we'll take a shower and go see that pill pusher."

Shower we did and then we walked to the clinic which is only a couple of blocks away from our house in Dolores. The doctor made us wait a half-hour so by the time he asked us into his consulting room, it was already 10:30.

The doctor took her blood pressure, looked at her feet, looked at the pills she usually takes for her blood pressure and said,

"You're retaining too much water. I am going to give you some pills that will help you eliminate it. I will also ask you to reduce your blood pressure medicine by half."

Lighter by 200 pesos and 600 pesos for the medicine he prescribed, we walked out of the clinic. I said,

"OK, off to the bus station."

"No," said C, "I have to go back home."

"Why?" I asked.

"I just can't go away like that. I have to go back home to see if there is anything I have forgotten."

"Look," I said, "we're not going off to the North Pole. It is just to San Miguel, which is only a half hour away. Can't you just think HERE and see if you have not forgotten something?"

"No," she said adamantly, "I have to go back home."

Off she went. I bought a paper and sat in the plaza to wait for her. By 11:30 I was still reading the paper, so I decided to go and see what was keeping her. I met her half way to the house.  I said,

"So, did you forget something?"

"No," she said,

"But, I did," I said testily. "I forgot my credit cards." Back we went to the house to fetch them.

By the time we got to the bus station, it was 11:50.  We took the 12:00 o'clock bus to San Miguel. Now, you have to understand that there are only 17 kilometers between Dolores and San Miguel, but these buses make a stop to pick up people or let people get off every one or two kilometers. So, a trip that should take 15 to 20 minutes usually takes 30 to 40 minutes.

We had only traveled about 4 kilometers and the bus had made its first stop to pick up people when disaster struck: the bus ran out of hydraulic pressure, i.e. no brakes and no gear shifting.

There we were in the middle of the desert with cars whizzing by and the bus driver trying desperately to fix the hydraulic pump. Now, if you remember, C had been given pills to help her rid herself of excess water.

All of us passengers had descended from the bus and we were hoping that another bus would come by so we could take that when C said,

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"C," I said, "we're in the middle of nowhere here...no wait, there's a police station over there. Maybe they have a bathroom you can use."

Off she went. The bus driver was hard at work and the buses that stopped for us would not honor our tickets so the bus driver said that we would have to wait for his bus company car to come, which would be in 40 minutes, and that that bus would take us to San Miguel.

I turned around just in time to see C come out of the police station and head south! Where is she going, I wondered.

Ten minutes later, the bus driver announced success! He had managed to get the pump running and now we can leave.

"Wait," I said to the bus driver, "my wife went to the bath room. I have to go fetch her."

I ran toward the police station, passed it,  and saw there there was a gasoline station with a convenience store near-by. There was a large sign saying "W. C.", so I imagined that that was where C was.

I ran into the convenience store and yelled "C! C! the bus is leaving, come out!" The store manager came toward me with a face  of fear. He must have thought I was mad or something. I said,

"I am looking for my wife. Is there a short blond woman in there?"

"No, no hay nadie, señor," he said.

Back I ran to the bus and guess who was standing by the bus door waving at me? C!

How she got past me, I will never know. The bus driver was threatening to leave without us and the bus was already moving. I jumped on and off we went.

"Where the hell were you?" I said,

"I went to the bathroom," she answered calmly.

"Where? I saw you leave the police station, so I figured they had no bath room."

"Well, the policemen said that their bathroom was not fit to be used by a lady so they told me to go to the convenience store. I did."

"But, but, I went there, and yelled and looked for you. How could you come back without me seeing you?"

"I don't know," she said. "Poor darling, they wanted to leave you but I stood firm and said no. Look I will treat you to lunch in San Miguel. I will pay for a nice drink too at Hank's."

The further 30 or so minutes it took to get to San Miguel passed without mishaps, and with the usual bevy of stops to pick up people.

Once in San Miguel, we took a taxi. It was now past 13:00 hours or 1:00 PM to you non military. The bank closes at 15:00 hours or 3:00 PM on Wednesdays so we had t hurry.

The taxi left us three blocks from the bank. "This is as far as I can take you," said the driver. "The streets around the plaza are closed today for a festival."

We hopped off and hurried along the uphill street. We got to the bank on time, I took out some money from the ATM and went to the first open window to pay my cards.

"Well," I said happy that in spite of all the troubles we had made it in time to the bank, "now let us repair to Hank's for a well deserved round of drinks and a hearty meal. It is 2:30 and I am starving. So, if you withdraw some money from the ATM, C, we will be on our way to that hospitable hostelry."

"Uh, I can't," said C.

"Pray tell, why not?"

"I forgot my credit card at home."

"You, YOU, YOUUU," my jugular vain was about to pop so I had to contain myself. "But, but, you went back home just for that purpose; you went back to check that you had forgotten nothing!"

"I thought I had it in my bag but I don't. I usually...."

"Never mind," I said. "Since I cannot withdraw money anymore, having reached the limit for the day, I will have to pay with my recently paid up credit card."

We had a great meal. Shrimp cocktails, trout in blackened butter, grilled fresh salmon, little crab cakes in lemon oil, and a bottle of chilled white wine from L. A. Cetto's cave.

As we exited Hank's C said, "Let's go to the library."

"The library?" quoth I. "I am ready for a spell in the arms of Morpheus."

"Oh, come on..." And off we went to that repository of culture.

The public library of San Miguel turned out to be a very pleasant place, with courtyards, individual conference rooms and book shelves all over. I found that it also had a very nice cafe where I parked myself in a comfortable chair to finish that dream about the blond.

Well, uneasy rests the head of a guy who hangs around with C because just as I was reaching for the blond, C woke me up.

"Come quick," she urged. "There is a conference on the history of San Miguel just about to start."

I stumbled over to the room where a skinny intellectual was holding forth in English. I went to the back of the room (just as I used to do in High School) so I could continue the chase of the blond nymph, but after about five minutes the skinny, bearded intellectual said,

"OK, so follow me," and exaunt all...except me. C said, "Aren't you coming?"

"You guessed right, I aren't coming," I said.

But she badgered me and I followed. After a couple of blocks, the skinny intellectual stopped and said, "Here's a nice photo op," and he pointed to a church.

"That's it for me," said I. "That damned skinny intellectual is really nothing but a glorified tourist guide. I am so out of here. See you at the cafe."

She went off with the herd.

I went back to the conference room cum library and slept midst the smell of books. They have always had that effect on me. When I woke, I went to the cafe and had a couple of cappuccinos. After a while, I saw the skinny intellectual coming back trailing the small herd he had trotted out with just a couple of hours before. But, Alas, C was not among the troop.

"Hmm," said I but was not disquieted. She has the knack of going off in different directions when one least expects it. When we are in a supermarket I have to keep a wary eye on her because as soon as I turn around, she disappears and it takes me half an hour to find her.

So, I sat there watching all the ex-pats from Canada and the US wander in and out of the cafe. About an hour later, C walked in.

"What happened," I queried. "Did you ditch the photo ops, too?"

"No!" she said. "I was following along and we went into a church and the guy was saying something about the history of the church and I went off to take a picture and when I came back, they were gone! I went outside to look for them and could not find them."

"And then you got lost."

"Yes, she confirmed. I had no idea where I was. I was lost."

"OK, C. Enough excitement for one day. Lets go buy our booze and go home."

Monday I travel to Monterrey to do battle with the pension people.

Before I publish the finale of my Adventures in Pension Land...

OK, folks, so Holy Week got in the way. I will write the Finale in a few days, after I collect my money.

A half-dozen or so of you might have seen some of these pictures which I posted on FB; but perhaps the other half-dozen did not, so here are the pictures from some of the goings-on during Holy Week.

First and foremost, the procession of the Virgin, the authentic one, not the ones whose pictures come later:

So, off went the Virgin of Dolores with the crowd following. Up ahead were the other "virgins", dancing their heart away in honor of the "real" Virgin.

That standard carrier was my choice to represent Mexico in New York Mayor Bloomberg's campaign against drinking too many sugary sodas. But, after she cleared the way, came the other dancers:

"Hmmm," I said, "are you sure you folks did not confuse the Virgin of Dolores procession with the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro?"

"No," I was told. "We, like Saint Francis Asisi, have taken a vow of poverty and have given our clothes to the poor."

Ah, well, that explains it

After the, uh, dancers, came the drum and bugle corps of the tough guy police force, as exemplified by Juan "Break Every Bone In Their Body" Garcia and his mentor, Pedro "Iron Hands" Rodriguez, who followed behind.

Where was I, you might ask?

Yeah, that's me at the head of the procession.

Here's a better look at me. No, I am not the guy with the candle on his face, I'm the buy with the blue sash on the right edge of the picture.

No, not really. I was walking backwards, in front of the procession, taking pictures, until I fell on my, uh, rear end. The festivities went on into the night.

The festivities ended with a spectacular boom, really. There were lots of fireworks.

The next day, Saturday of Glory, we were invited to go up and ring the bells for the noon mass. We were to ring ALL the bells. It is an unnerving experience. I couldn't hear well for the next two days!

There's Claudette with the only bell ringer who is her size.

You can see from this picture that this ain't no place for anyone with vertigo. Jimmy Steward would have vomited if he had come up here. Forget the bells at Capistrano!

 This is our friend. He is the owner of the newspaper/magazines/souvenir shop that's across from the plaza. He is also a volunteer bell ringer.

A real nice guy but not the sharpest knife in the drawer. When I first met him, I thought his name was "What?" because I asked him his name and he would answer, "What?" For a minute I though he was playing something like the old Abbot and Costello routine, "Who's on first?" but I realized he was sort of hearing impaired from all the bell ringing.

This thing weight 15 tons. Nobody knows how they got it up there or if they got it up there. That is, some bells were cast in situ, or so the legend  says. I think they used a helicopter although people assure me helicopters were not invented yet when it was put up there in 1759.

You can almost see the curvature of the world from up here.

Hulooo, you insects, you ants...Ahhh, ha, ha, ha...I'm on top of the world, Ma. Top of the world!

This is the official bell ringer for the church. He rings them bells from 5:30 AM to 9:30 PM, every hour on the hour, not only for the mass, but he also rings the Angelus and for special occasions like the procession. He says little and hears less.

Guess where the bell ringers go to pee when nature calls? Yup, behind the dome!

Exhausted from the fray, we took a deserved rest at the guest house where distinguished persons stay when visiting Dolores. We just sort of snuck in there.

Later, we repaired to the nearest hostelry for some delicious mole and chiles rellenos...well accompanied by some dark Negra Modelo beer.

Oh, yeah!

I will be taking pictures at my friends birthday party on the 13th of this month. It promises to be a real, authentic Mexican food fest. It will be held in a town that is at the foot of Popocatepetl, a still active volcano. I hope it stays quiet that day.