When you car gets stolen in Mexico City...

You have to deal all kinds of strange remarks.

(For those who still don't know it, Gabriel had to hand over our car to two guys last Thursday night, having a gun pointing at him. At that very moment, I was on the phone with him--a helpless witness to the loss. Dog gracious, nothing happened to the racoon, and what remains now are ridiculous stories of how our police system and car insurance company work).

Today it was my turn to offer “prove or ownership” of the stolen Beetle. Sitting in front of a perfect BUROCRATA, I was showered with pearls of wisdom:

“What is your level of studies?”
- Masters Degree
“Ok, please give this document to your husband, so that he reads it carefully and makes sure that the information is correct.”
(The “information”: motor number, car model, license plates)
- Let me check the details…
“No, please give the document to your husband, so that he makes sure that the information is correct. If it is wrong, you will not be able to continue the procedure…”
[A Masters degree does not enable you to do this, apparently].

“Do you have any prove of what happened?”
- Well, I was on the phone with my husband when he was carjacked…”
“So, you don’t have any prove of it… At what time did this happen?”
- At 9:20 pm
“And what was your husband doing alone, at night, on the streets? Haven’t you asked yourself about that?”
[It is not enough to be the victim of a crime— you have to be ready to be questioned about everything else].

And my favorite one:
“Name?”
“Religion?”
[I am sure the car was stolen because we are a mixed couple of Buddhist/atheist].