Dispatch From a Tijuana Cookie Aisle

We stood beside “La Linea” at the western frontier of the US-Mexican border. We were cornered on three sides: the United States to the north, the sea to the west, and the mountains to the east.

A lighthouse to the south mirrored a guard tower. The former’s purpose was to welcome things in. The latter was to keep things out.

The night before, I was planning to bring something out.

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We were sitting at the party in Playas de Tijuana, drunk from multiple trips to the keg. My veganism was on hiatus on account of the homemade tacos al carbon. When the host enlisted an amigo to make a tequila run, we volunteered our company to visit the Oxxo.

Oxxo is my favorite convenience store in Mexico. I like it because it’s a bizarro Circle K or 7-11 or ampm, but much cleaner. For an American, the chain feels very familiar... yet entirely different.

My girlfriend was excited to go to check out the cookie selection. She’d recovered from a full-on Latin American cookie addiction in 2008. She’d only recently started to crack open bags from mercados in our neighborhood.

She loved Chikys in Panama, MiniChips in Colombia, and most of all she loved Chokis in Mexico.

We got into the car with a web designer who could pass for a Hugo Chavez impersonator. He told us that Playas de Tijuana has the most Oxxos per capita of anywhere in Mexico.

“The corporate headquarters buys vacant lots to build convenience stores on every corner.”

We went inside headed directly for the cookie aisle. My girlfriend was delighted to discover that Chokis had released a new item: Chokis Xtra. It was Chokis with a chocolate filling. She was overjoyed at the opportunity to taste the future of her favorite brand. I too was excited to ride the elusive Chokis-wave.

One mile south-of-the-border you can find things you can’t get in America.

What if we were to fall in love with this treat? How’d we be able to get our hands on it?

Our addiction might grow and we’d have no choice but to import these sweet sweet cookies into the USA by any means necessary. We’d become junkies who become regular run-of-the-mill cookie smugglers.

Crossing back into the United States might get dicey.

“What did you do in Mexico?”
“I went to a friend’s birthday party.”
“Where?”
“Playas de Tijuana.”
“Why did you come to Mexico?”
“To go to a birthday party.”

He wouldn’t believe that lie. I don’t look like a guy who comes to Tijuana to just go to a birthday party. No my beard and unkempt good looks make it seem like I’m there for something more sinister.

He’d take me out of the line and ask whether or not I’d ever been arrested for smuggling. I’d say “no.” But he wouldn’t believe me.

Border agents would search my bags... and sure enough there’d be a dozen packs of Chokis Xtra. I’d be detained indefinitely. Probably sent to Guantanamo.

My freedom, my rights, and worst of all my Chokis would be removed.

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We paid for the tequila with plastic money, then drove the four blocks back to the house. Music was playing and people had started to dance. While glasses of tequila were being poured, we cracked open the cookies.

First bite...

divine...

delicious...

delectable...

how was it...how was it...?...?...?

Not very good.

These cookies tasted like Chip’s Ahoy with a Riesen-old-person-candy melted on top. Even my girlfriend, the recovering Chokis addict, was not impressed. Nobody at the party paid attention to the disgusting cookies. We couldn’t even finish the bag.

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One mile south-of-the border, Manu Chao’s “Welcome to Tijuana” played on the loudspeaker.

“Welcome to Tijuana. Tequila, Sexo, Marijuana...” and pretty gross cookies too.