Yes. I have a lot of bad ideas and when I’ve been drinking they seem like great ideas and I do them. Not always the wisest option. The sign outside the office door to my bar reads “Bad Idea Factory.” So yeah, one day, very early on, I was trying to bring 60 bottles or so across the border under a bus with a friend of mine, Lavon, and I dressed up like a priest. It happened like this. Lavon is a painter and a musician and a drinker. He’s a romantic mad man who looks like a cross between Salvador Dali, Pepe Le Pew, and Zorro. He has a pencil moustache twisted at the ends and slicked back hair. He also has a predilection for porno, which I was unaware of until the day in question.
Any way, we had managed to get the mezcal as far as Tapachula, but now the trick was to get it out of Mexico. It was early in the morning and we had just taken an 11-hour bus ride from Oaxaca. During that ride Lavon had imbibed a bit, say a bottle or so of good mezcal. He was a bit sloppy. So I had a drunken Zorro on my hands as my partner in crime transporting mezcal. I was kind of fucked, in other words.