I’ve recently experienced one of my life’s most embarrassing moments.
It’s all Lily’s fault.
Two years ago, I asked a new acquaintance if she had any recommendations for a housekeeper. She quickly shared the phone number for Lily, who I promptly messaged.
After a few back and forths, Lily and I settled on a day and time. She was late, as expected, but nonetheless sweet and trustworthy. For the next year, Lily would arrive every 15 days at more or less the decided hour. Because I loved her name, I made it a point to repeat it with each interaction.
And then, Lily got a job.
In her place, Lily sent her cousin, who came just once because she was unable to commit to the time. That cousin sent another cousin. That other cousin, Janet, has been working with me for a year. Recently, Janet had surgery, so the aforementioned noncommittal cousin was scheduled to fill in during the recovery process.
I know it’s a lot of cousins. That, in itself, is a good lesson on life in Mexico.
Upon the noncommittal cousin’s arrival, whose name I still didn’t know, I asked about Janet’s condition. She updated me with some details of the surgery and how she was healing. “And how is Lily?” I asked, genuinely curious as I hadn’t heard much about her in quite some time. Her face contorted into a look of remorse crossed with confusion. She smiled meekly. “I am Lily,” she said. As I stuffed the words “No, you’re not” back down my throat, resulting in a weak cough, “Lily” continued. “I think you were confused. When you texted me two years ago, I couldn’t take another client, so I sent Mayte. But I’m Lily.”
I stood there, swirling in a state of confusion so great I couldn’t, at that point, remember my own name.
“So, you’re Lily.”
“Yes, I’m Lily.”
“And the girl who came here for the first year was Mayte.”
“Yes, that was Mayte.”
“And I called her Lily, for a year.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she correct me?”
“I think she was embarrassed.”
“No, Lily. I’m embarrassed. It’s ME who is embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry!”
But I did worry, and I still do. More than the telenovela-worthy Lily debacle, I worry about all the things that Mexicans are unable to communicate.
If you’ve lived here for any significant period of time, you’ll notice that many quirks come at great contrast to what many of us non-Mexican westerners are known for — an ability to speak our minds, for better or for worse.
It just ain’t the case in Mexico.
As I start to delicately climb out of my cocoon of shame (I’ve been hiding in there for over a month), I reflect on the thoughts I had while stuck in there. The oft-critical information that regularly goes unsaid in a country of people who simply cannot confabulate directly.
Information including, but by no means limited to, the following.
That’s not my name
In a way, I get it. My name is repeatedly butchered in both foreign countries and English-speaking ones, which has resulted in me either A) Inventing a new name (Hola, mi nombre es Blanca Rosa) or B) answering to names that aren’t my own (Hi, Brittany! It’s actually Bethany, Dave. Hi, Brittany! Hi, Dave.)
I also get that after an unspecified period of time, it’s simply too late to correct someone. But I’ll never get how a full year went by without me realizing a blunder of such magnitude.
I don’t know how to get there
A Mexican would prefer to send you to Kathmandu than admit that they don’t know where something is located. This is especially treacherous territory in Mexico City, where chilangos take pride in the impossible — knowing every museum, church, statue or Sanborns situated in this monstrous urban sprawl.
In my unsolicited opinion, getting lost is the best way to learn a city’s geography. But when in a time crunch or a questionable neighborhood, may I suggest using Google Maps to get you where you need to go, rather than the sweet abuela at the corner store?
I need to reschedule
I’ve played witness to this phenomenon in both my professional and cross-cultural dating life. Instead of a simple, “I’m sorry, but can’t do Wednesday, would you be free on Friday instead?” you’ll probably hear something along the lines of:
- There is a great restaurant I’d like to take you to, but it’s only open on Fridays. (Pause. Wait for you to suggest rescheduling for Friday.)
- I have so many meetings this week! I don’t know how I’ll be able to leave my office! (Pause. Wait for you to ask if rescheduling for Friday might be easier.)
- I won Round 1 of my tennis tournament! (Pause. Wait for you to ask when Round 2 takes place.) Round 2 should be on Wednesday! (Insert wide-eyed emoji here if via text. Wait for you to inquire about the schedule of subsequent rounds and offer your availability. preferably on a day that does not fall in conflict with the tennis tournament. Like, Friday.)
- My throat is really hurting. I’m sure it will get better by Wednesday. (Pause. You know the rest.)
For the record, he/she is not blowing you off. You are guaranteed to see this person on Friday.
I’m married
Is it just me, or do wedding rings not exist in this country? (And Italy.) What I once depended on as a tell-tale sign of availability has all but disappeared as I date my way through Mexico. After bearing witness to questionable mid-date phone calls and suspicious living situations, I’ve learned to ask in a straightforward manner “Are you married?” Believe it or not, when the answer is yes, the response is affirmative. In one form or another.
I’ll be there at X time
At risk of sounding cliché, Mexican time is real. In fact, I would apply flexible start times to nearly all territory extending southward from (and including) the city of Miami. Luckily, lateness doesn’t equate disrespect or lack of interest so bring a book and chill out until your party arrives.
Generally anything with the word ‘no’
A traditional Mexican will do anything in his or her power to avoid the word ‘no’. Once you understand and accept this, it becomes quite fun to watch. I’m repeatedly impressed with my friends’ fine tuned abilities in circumventing its usage. Similar to the Mexican art of rescheduling, your amigo will likely dance and sing his way around a direct negation to avoid disappointing you. He or she will employ tactics such as diversion, avoidance, and feigned ignorance to say “no” in any way possible that doesn’t involve the word “no”. Being the bearer of unwanted news is not the Mexican way, and with time you’ll discern when all signs point to “no” and, perhaps, become appropriately avoidant yourself.
Want more cultural tips? You might enjoy these articles:
10 things gringos do that upset Mexicans (and how to avoid them)
Made in Mexico taught me everything I needed to know about Whitexicans
Bethany Platanella is a travel planner and lifestyle writer based in Mexico City. She lives for the dopamine hit that comes directly after booking a plane ticket, exploring local markets, practicing yoga and munching on fresh tortillas. Sign up to receive her Sunday Love Letters to your inbox, peruse her blog, or follow her on Instagram.
