A Field Service Trip To Peru

Thoughts (not necessarily well written) by
Robert Newton

Well, it took way too long for me to get around to typing this, and I sincerely apologize to Antonio (my Peruvian buddy), but I have an excuse or two. One, I'm lazy and procrastinate when ever possible. Two, I didn't have a decent word processor on my computer (I do now). Three, I forgot what three was. Please bare in mind I've had ample time to forget the intimate details of this pleasure cruise.

I got ready for the trip days before hand, and having prepared myself for the ordeal by buying a briefcase tool kit, I got in my car confident that I could meet what ever awaited me.

Friday, June 28, 1996

I parked my car at the Van Nuys flyaway parking lot and took the bus to L.A.X. The trip was uneventful and rather smooth. I arrived at the airport and checked in rapidly. I walked to the boarding area, stopping to buy a book (that I read 270 pages of on the flight to Peru), and was stopped by security because of my tool case. I was promptly turned around and was forced to check it in as luggage. A man that worked for the airline recognized me upon returning to the ticketing area and ran me to the front of the line. I was very grateful that he expedited matters, and shortly returned to the boarding area. This time I passed security without a blink of an eye.

After a tense time my flight was called and my fellow travelers and I were herded like cattle onto the plane. I may have even taken the liberty, in an attempt to ease my own tension, of mooing like a cow. The flight to Mexico City flew by (pardon the expression). I don't remember the excellent cuisine we were served in-flight, but I remember thinking it was "Okay."

In the Mexican airport I tried to find out where my next flight would be boarding. I overheard a black man talking English and asked him if he knew where I should go. He told me that he was also going to Peru, and that a Vice President of AeroMexico (the airline I was booked on) told him that we should stay where we were. I tried to make small talk with the black man, but hit a wall.

Shortly before our flight was to be announced the black man came to me and said that our flight was boarding in a totally different area of the airport. We scurried through the corridors and arrived just in time to be boarded. It seems the vice president didn't know what he was talking about. Luckily, the black man was nervous about the source and went to the information desk before it was too late.

The airlines call passengers by row numbers to fill the back of the plane first, then the middle, and finally the front. I waited until my row was called and got in line with everyone else. When I gave my boarding pass to the man taking the tickets, he stopped me and asked why I hadn't been checked by immigration. I told him that I was in transit, and I never left the international terminal. He became angry and I told him that I didn't know what he was talking about. He looked at my passport, mumbled something, and let me go.

The second leg of the journey was as wonderful as the first. Only this time, because of the length of the flight, there was an in-flight movie. I believe it was "Sense and Sensibility." I don't remember. I do remember that the instructions concerning the movie that were given in English stated, "Channel 3 is in English." I turned to channel 3 to listen to the movie because I was tired of reading. I was delighted to hear the Portuguese language instead of English. I debated whether to watch the movie in Portuguese or Spanish, and opted for the book.

There were strange things about some parts of the flights. I got to hear the instructions about air masks in Spanish and English. Everything was pretty much Spanish and English, even when serving food. I loved watching the stewardesses doing their thing. On the way back from Peru they disinfected us as per international rules. In one place they turned off the lights inside the plane because of international rules. I don't know, I think they were making some of the stuff up as they went along.

I arrived in Peru at approximately 11 p.m. (Peru time) and went through immigration easily. The luggage was supposed to be picked up in one area, and, of course, was actually in another area. After picking up my luggage I proceeded to customs. I had filled out the paperwork as I was directed to do. The lady that I talked to (partially in English, partially in Spanish) tore up my paperwork and wrote the equivalent of "nothing to declare" on a new one.

I exited the airport and was greeted by what seemed to be a thousand people, all with the names of their respective parties on their signs. The airport police kept the crowd at bay, and I was thankful. Looking through the crowd I saw a sign that said "Kung Fu" and laughed. I kept looking for my name, and finally, at the end of the line, I saw a man standing two or three people deep, holding a small card with my name on it.

The man holding the card turned out to be Enrique (note: Enrique died in a car accident recently), brother of Joaquin, our sales representative for South America. I thought we were ready to go, but he said that we had to wait for his brother Antonio, who had bribed a guard and was now in the airport looking for me. After a few minutes he returned. We exchanged hellos and went to the car. Enrique tipped a man for watching the car and we were on the road.

The drive was different. Different from anything I had ever experienced. The first thing that caught my eye was the policeman with the automatic machine gun at the edge of the airport parking lot. This actually was quite surprising to me, as I had never seen a police officer (in my country) with such a persuasive crime deterrent.

The second thing I noticed (besides a lot of woman walking the streets, which Enrique and Antonio assured me a lot of whom were men) was the lack of traffic signals or stop signs (there were some but they were sparse). People were on their own in this modern city of Lima. Cars darted in and out of side streets, sometimes stopping, sometimes not. I was already in the habit of wearing a seatbelt, and was very glad mine was functional. A funny note: In different places in the city there were signs posted that more of less read, "If you consider yourself educated, stop for the traffic light."

We arrived at a hotel and they checked me in, which entailed having to present my passport. I asked if this customary, and they assured me that it was. They told me the room was paid for, and I could have room service if I wanted anything. They said their goodnights, told me they'd return in the morning, and were gone.

On the elevator ride to my room (which stopped about a foot below the floor), the bellhop asked me (in Spanish) if I was looking for action. He told me there was a place straight across the street from the hotel, and when we got to my room, showed me through the window. It appeared to be a happening place, but I declined to go as it had been a very long day.

The room was clean, but was not luxurious. Well, in all fairness, maybe by the standards of the land, it was. Everything looked like it was from the 50's except the electronic equipment such as the television, alarm clock, and refrigerator. I drank a pepsi and went to bed.

The night was loud and anxiety kept me awake for a while, but eventually I drifted off to sleep. I awoke a few times during the night. I looked out the window at the incessant parade of cars that drove up and down the street. It seemed to me that a large number of them emitted large plumes of black smoke when they traveled under street lights.

In the morning I showered and shaved. I had brought tablets with me to purify the water, and trying to follow the suggestions of my workmates, I used a tablet for the water I brushed my teeth with. It was horrible tasting, and I wondered if I was doing my breath a service. Later, during the trip, I abandoned the use of the tablets because of circumstances, and suffered as a result.

I turned my key in at the lobby, and, of course, they wanted money. I made it clear that I was waiting for my friends and had no money. I walked to a couch and began reading my book again. Enrique and Antonio showed up about the time they told me they would. They paid the tab, and we left.

We took a scenic route to the airport in a Russian car. I later e-mailed Enrique to find that the name of the car is LADA. It is the Russian version of a FIAT 124. My seatbelt did not work, so I was somewhat apprehensive about our drive.

The part that I remember the most, or was most impressed with, was the park on the oceanfront for skateboarders. It was, please pardon the slang, bitchin'! We also passed large groups of surfers. I was informed that it was a school for surfing. It was during this trip that I noticed the terrible conditions of the roads. Antonio was constantly swerving to avoid potholes and landslides.

At the airport we were stopped for a registration check of the vehicle. This is a common occurrence in Peru because spot checks are set up in various places in the city. At the airport we had a beer and were off to Puira.

Antonio and I had seats next to each other on the plane, and because we are both rather large (Antonio is probably 6 ft, 250 lbs), sat with one empty seat between us. Of course, the person that belonged to the seat that I was in arrived. The airline attendant asked me to move to my correct seat, and Antonio and I held our breaths to fit side by side. Ok, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but it was tight quarters.

The man that sat next to me was a padre. The brown frock, rope tied around his waist, the whole bit. I noticed that although there was no 13th seating aisle in the plane, if there had been, we would have been in it. I pointed this out to Antonio and the fact that we were sitting next to a padre. As I recall, he was not comforted. I believe he told me something to the effect of "shut up, you're scaring me."

We flew for a while and landed in a church that had an airfield for a view. Maybe that's the other way around. A two-lane highway would have made a better landing strip. Where the control tower was, I have no idea. While unloading passengers (the padre was one of them), the plane was gassed up. Antonio told me how this airfield was fairly modern, because they didn't run a truck out to the plane to fuel it. They had an underground tank.

The next airport was bigger, but it had a net at the end of the runway in case of overshoot. This made me somewhat nervous. I don't remember if it was this airport or not, but on one of our landings, there must have been a good side wind. The plane rocked back and forth from wheel to wheel as we decelerated. When it was obvious that the pilot had gained control of the plane, and that we were not going to flip over, the entire plane's occupants began clapping. Somebody to the side of me looked at me, nodded his head, and began clapping. I didn't know what to do.

We walked around the airport for a while, and after we figured there was no one there to meet us, Antonio made a call. He came back and told me that they just left and should be there in a few minutes. I questioned how that could be as the plant was supposedly a two hour trip from the airport, and Antonio said he didn't know. We went outside and were accosted by cab drivers and the like and waited.

A red truck with two people showed up to pick us up. I went to put my luggage in the back of the truck, and they insisted I put it in the cab with us. Antonio explained that it might get stolen. We drove for a few minutes through a very dirty and impoverished town. We stopped in front of a building surrounded by a wrought iron gate and 8 to 10 foot walls.

A large, unfriendly rottweiler waited inside for us. One of the people pushed the dog to the ground and sat on it while we entered the house. I'm not sure why we stopped there, but after a few minutes we were on the road again.

The trip to the plant had some interesting diversions. There are a lot of motorcycle cabs in Puira. It almost looked like a movie of the orient with all the bikes roaming the streets. There were also a lot of military bases with guarded turrets and police stations manned by lone machine gun toting policemen in the front entry.

The farther we drove, the poorer the area became, until all the eye could see were cardboard/woven houses. There was, of course, the occasional flat bed truck or bus, with broken out windows, stuffed with people, on the road. We stopped at a gas station before we left civilization.

The scenery became more and more desolate as we drove on. All the while I kept thinking, "what the hell did I let them get me in to?" I've seen desert before, but this was the real thing. Sand dunes as far as the eye could see. They even had people shoveling sand off the road in places. I assume they did this so the road wouldn't get lost.

We finally arrived at the company. Copeinca, a.k.a., Corporacion Pesquera Inca S.A., located in Bahia de Bayovar, Peru. I made a statement one time to Antonio about how I thought S.A. meant "South America." He laughed at that one. He explained that in Peru when people wanted to make a corporation and keep their names a secret, they formed an S.A., "sociedad anonima" (anonymous society). Boy, did I feel stupid.

The facility had the look of a low security prison with barbed wire and guard shacks at every corner of the property. We stopped at the guard shack at the main entrance and they issued me a "special visitor" pass that I was supposed to wear in plain sight at all times. I was obliged to give them something as equally important to me, so I offered them my passport. They accepted.

We were allowed a few minutes to unload our baggage in our bungalow. Each bungalow in the plant had three bedrooms, two single beds per room, two bathrooms, wicker furniture in the common room, a t.v. (one channel only), and a small refrigerator. As soon as we were settled in, we were brought to the maintenance department to meet the manager of that department.

Everyone that was anyone in this place had a two-way radio. The first thing I remember noticing was that every statement ended with the word "cambio." This means change (or I change) in Spanish, and it made me wonder. When I asked about it, I was told it was like when we say "over" at the end of a statement.

We were given a small tour of the facility. It was quite large. At the water's edge, we met more security. We walked out onto the dock where the fish was unloaded via pump and ran into more security. This guy was enormously concerned with our well-being. This he demonstrated by swinging, twirling, and flipping a shot gun in our presence. Every time the barrel pointed in my direction, I winced. I made a mental note at this time: Don't mess with stupid here.

We finally visited the sensor's location, and amazingly enough, they were still installing it. Wonderful. I was told before I left the country that the unit had been in Peru for a couple of months and the customer was becoming impatient because we hadn't shown up yet. That was why I was rushed out the door, at last minute, to be there, and they didn't even have it installed yet.

I advised them how to hook up certain things properly, and when it was powered up, made sure it was operating correctly. We asked for some samples to start with the calibration. They said the lab was closed, so they didn't have any. We stayed there, checking the sensor for quite some time, but because it was Saturday, and because they had no fish (so no production), we returned to our room.

I don't remember how it came to pass but we ended up in the cafeteria. As I was a "special guest" I was not forced to eat what everyone else was eating (fish). I was served fried chicken. During the course of the dinner we were introduced to anyone that was vaguely important in the company. Luckily for me, Antonio had to bear the brunt of the conversations as I do not speak Spanish fluently. Everyone was glad to make our acquaintance and seemed very friendly.

Sunday morning came early and I went to take a shower. I turned on the water and waited for the hot water to make its way from where ever it was to where I was, but it did not come. Well, I had to take a shower in spite of the cold because of my hair. I think I uttered a few profanities, but I managed.

At breakfast we ran into more people that had questions, were glad to meet us, and seemed friendly. One person that was especially interested in our arrival and progress was the plant manager. I can't remember his name right now. I thought I'd never forget it if I lived long enough to get out of that place, but I did.

The plant manager, let's call him Mr. Mafia (he had the look in his eyes that he'd kill you if you didn't do what he wanted) tried probing me quite a bit. How does it work? Why is it better than other systems? Why does it cost so much? Can it (a processor) be used for more than one sensor? I answered the best I could, and Antonio, quite the diplomat, did his best to relay the information.

Later during the conversation he tried to intimidate me (for my company) by bringing up other types of moisture sensors, and how he had been considering them. It was quite a chess match. He told me that he was considering an infrared system. I finally was so fed up with his line, I told him "good luck." I then told him that infrared systems are only good for surface measurements and that he would not get the information he was looking for. After Antonio delivered my reply he said, "That's why I chose Sensortech."

Note: In Peru the correct pronunciation of Sensortech is Sensortetch and Silicon Valley is Silicone Valley.

The day was spent hooking up lights for the high and low alarms, and then I believe giving a class on the operation and programming of the unit for a bunch of the employees. During this time it was discovered that there was a problem with the Sensortech eprom software. The high and low alarms could come on at the same time (and would latch on) if the moisture reading changed too quickly. The software problem was fixed shortly after I returned to the states.

Speaking of the employees, the average employee works for the company 25 of 30 days each month, basically all day long (actually most of the day, and then on call the rest of the day). Because the company is so far from any real town, the employees can't go home except on their days off.

During the course of the day I spoke with a few of the people that understood English. Janis (I believe that's his name), the director of security for the plant, was very easy going and very friendly. I talked with him about the cardboard town (with no running water or sewer system) called "Puerto Rico" outside the plant. Oddly enough, the subject of women was brought up. He told me, and I quote, "Half the women are whores. The other half are, too." I thought he was joking, but later I found out he was probably right.

After a long day we had our evening meal. We ran into more people and somewhere along the way, we were invited to go to Puerto Rico.

We walked through the dark in search of a bar that would have some entertainment (women). We came on a bar that met most everybody's fancy and we entered. We ordered beer and were served a liter bottle of beer and some glasses about twice the size of a shot glass. I told everybody that I wanted a whole bottle for myself, but in an attempt to do some male bonding, I settled for the shot glass.

We drank quite a few bottles, and I had a good time. My command of the Spanish language got better as I became drunker. Well, I think it did. Janis asked one of the women working there where all the women were. He was told that it was Sunday, and that all the women had a hard night (Saturday). Something to the effect of "even the girls need a night off" was also thrown in. Downhearted we drank a few more beers and left.

Monday morning had a wonderful start with another cold shower. I don't know who brought it up, but I told Antonio that I thought I was just getting up too late to get hot water. We came to the conclusion that there was no hot water. One of the giveaways was the bathroom sink in one of the bathrooms. It had only one spigot. I took a picture of it, but it didn't develop.

I don't remember the exact day that we met the General, but I think it was Monday at breakfast. The General was part owner of the company. He was called the General because he was a General in the army of Peru at one time. Antonio said that he was probably the only one that had hot water in the place. He was not happy about it.

Watching the news during breakfast I was amazed to see news that is seemingly swept under the rug in the United States. I saw what amounted to a guerilla war in the jungle of Peru. Of course, it was because of drugs. Also, scarily and amazingly enough, marxist literature and Russian weapons were recovered. I thought the threat of Marxism was over. I guess ignorance is bliss.

I asked the General if he had fought in the war against drugs. He skirted that question.

It was Monday, and the lab technicians were present. They mustered up some samples of the product (fish meal), and even though they were small, we attempted to standardize the unit with them.

During the course of the day, Antonio started talking about "javancha." What was a javancha, I wondered. A javancha, pronounced hah-von-chah, he told me, is the offspring of a wild pig and a regular pig. There was a woman in Puerto Rico (the cardboard town) that was nicknamed Javancha, and he was curious what she might look like. Felix, a short, dark man in charge of logistics, was evidently friends with Javancha. When Antonio brought the subject up, Felix would clam up. Our curiosity peeked, and being together for many hours each day, we talked about her quite a bit.

We put together the image of a fat, ugly, wart covered, pig that sweated profusely, and as a result, stunk. We sang songs about her, Antonio is Spanish, and me in English. I even jested that she was my one true love, and that I was going to marry her and divorce her the next day.

The next few days we met and dealt with a lot of problems. When fish finally arrived for processing, we discovered that the sensor was vibrating violently. When I talked with Colin on the phone, which was a small miracle in itself because the company didn't really have an outside line, I described the vibration problem as being similar to a washing machine in the spin cycle. That was unacceptable.

We found that the rubber that they were using to isolate the sensor from the screw auger housing was the culprit that was actually transferring the vibration. When removed, the problem virtually disappeared. Antonio and I patted ourselves on the back.

The next problem was that the samples that we were originally given were too small, and the calibration was not even close. So, the quality control crew began to take samples. We told them how to do it, but they didn't follow directions well. Eventually, Antonio and I did it ourselves.

The system didn't seem to have a correlation to the actual moisture. I worked on the unit, changing parameters, swapping out boards, checking continuity of the system, and nothing seemed to work. The managerial staff began to sneer at us even though Antonio and I worked on two different days from eight in the morning till after midnight.

Another problem was product flow. When the product was flowing at full rate, the sensor was being drowned, and the solenoid that controlled the air purge system was inadequate (a higher pressure solenoid became the norm after this trip). When the flow rate of the product dropped to a minimum, no product was being deposited on the sensor.

Increasing the fill time of the sensor helped with the minimum flow rate problem, but didn't entirely compensate. We ended up having to weld a piece of plate steel inside the screw auger housing that directed a minimum flow onto the product.

This was actually no small feat. The company was in full motion, and was reluctant (refused) to stop production to do the welding. And, of course, the welding couldn't be done while product was flowing through the housing. Stopping the flow for even five minutes meant stopping the entire line (which would take twenty-five minutes or more) which would cost the company a huge amount of money.

The overflow problem was partially overcome by replacing the solenoid with a higher pressure solenoid (that the company provided). We were told that it better solve the problem by Mr. Mafia.

Still the problems persisted. Colin told me that there might be a grounding problem as the moisture the processor displayed seemed to change for no reason. At times it seemed to double or halve. He told me to hook a wire from the safety ground on the processor to the sensor. We did this and that problem seemed to dissipate.

The processor also had problems with the electrical system that the plant had. You see, the place was so far from anywhere, the plant had to generate it's own electricity. They did this with three huge generators which they switched between every couple hours. Every time they did, or they started an electric motor, the processor locked up.

Management was again greatly displeased with us when we told them that the system needed a U.P.S. (uninterruptible power supply). They bowed to the pressure that I would soon be leaving the country and that problem seemed to go away.

I talked with Colin again, and to demonstrate how bad the communication situation was, we actually tried to talk to each other one time via radio. I had to say "over" at the end of each statement. I wanted to say, "Willie, Willie, Willie, Cambio." That referring to the barrage of calls I had heard for Willie, the manager of the maintenance department, during my short visit.

Colin told me to take the sensor out of the housing and to re-zero and standardize the unit. He told me to use a piece of wood or something, and to leave it in the unit for a couple of hours to see if the unit was stable. I did as he suggested, and it appeared quite stable. So, we had the unit replaced.

The unit still seemed to have a problem, so I took the processor out of the housing that they had put it in. While taking it out I was electrocuted. It turned out that someone had shorted ground to 220 volts. An electrician was called in, and the problem was fixed.

We began taking samples ourselves and were disappointed to find that the readings were still not matching actual moisture. Antonio and I were exhausted and out of solutions by this time. We just wanted to go home, but ended up staying an extra two days in compliance with Colin's request.

Not only was the system not working, but the workers and managerial staff were becoming increasingly unfriendly toward us. Also, we had to put up with other little inconveniences. It seemed that every time we wanted to get into our bungalow, the front door was locked. Luckily for us, a janitor, I just had his name on the tip of my tongue (Petroleo?), always seemed to be around, and was more than willing to hunt a key down for us.

Dinner time became more and more unpleasant. We missed dinner one night because we weren't there at the right time. People started to avoid us. And, the waiter, who had been making us sign in a book for our meals every day, wanted to know who was going to pay for our meals. You have to remember we ate all our meals inside the company.

Fourth of July was a dismal failure, and Antonio and I knew that we could do no more. It was my opinion that a different type of sensor was needed. Some of the people (perhaps social outcasts) told me "Happy Fourth of July" and offered to drink with me. We worked until dinner time and gave up.

Antonio and I visited Puerto Rico for the last time that night. We drank quite a few bottles of beer between us. I remember thinking and saying that my dad would have been very proud of me to be barhopping even in a place like that.

We ended up at a place with fold up card tables, benches, gas lamps, loud, distorted music, and a flower patterned plastic strip hanging on the back wall. The whores that ran the place came over and helped us drink our beer.

We started to play cards, all the while I was flirting with one of the women. Antonio was working his own woman (much more so than me) and I supposedly taught them how to play blackjack. By the end of the night I had lost all my change. The women took the change, but questioned whether it was real or not, having never seen money from the U.S.

The bar closed up and we stayed. The music was turned down, but we kept drinking. The women decided that they wanted us to stay. My woman said she had never slept with a gringo, and thought that I would be an animal in bed, that I would want to do it all positions. This evidently turned her on. She wanted me in the worst way, and no language was needed to tell that. Antonio and I remained strong and left with only a kiss on the cheek and a hug. On the walk to the company, I nearly cried.

The next day we said a few goodbyes and tried to leave as quietly as possible. At the guardshack Antonio asked a guard if he could arrange for a ride for us. You see, the company decided that they weren't going to give us a ride to the airport, nor were they going to buy my ticket back to Lima. They had promised to do so, but the unit wasn't working, so they didn't want to do it.

While waiting for a ride, we were told to go to the main office. We both looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and started walking. The guards were good enough to allow us to leave our luggage at the shack.

Felix decided to write and type up a letter for us to sign that said we would replace or repair the instrument within a month or else pay $19,000.00. I told him he was crazy, and said I wouldn't sign anything unless they gave us a ride to the airport. As it was, we probably were going to be late for our flight. He wanted to know if I was joking.

I had finally had it with the whole situation and had a minor break down. I started yelling, and even though Felix didn't speak English, I'm sure he got the gist of my feelings. I used a few profanities such as "Fuck!" He tried to remain calm, but I could see my attitude, and the fact that I was standing, leaning over his desk yelling at him was making him nervous.

After the letter was finished, Antonio and I were coerced to sign it. Not only that, but we had to give our thumbprint. I was told, "that's the way we do things down here."

We hitched a ride with one of the head honchos to the airport. The only reason we got a ride was because Antonio knew him from school, and they were somewhat friendly.

We arrived at the airport in time to catch our flight, and we were both greatly relieved. When the plane finally took off, I felt as though a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I was defeated, but I was alive. This was especially important to me, because rumor had it that this gringo might never have left Copeinca. People also said something to the effect of, "Tell the gringo it's a long walk home."

When we arrived in Lima, I ended up spending the night at Antonio's family's house. It was beautiful (and so were his sisters). We ate dinner, cleaned up, and went out to see the city. I was exhausted, I did not enjoy the drive. But, I did not want to hurt my friends' feelings. I know that Antonio was as tired as I, but he was trying to be the gracious guest.

The whole family was very loving, well educated, well mannered, very gracious, and tried to make me feel at home. I am not exaggerating when I say that I would be hard pressed to reciprocate. It's not that I wouldn't want to, it's just that I don't know if I could do it.

The next morning they took me to the airport. I sent a postcard to my best friend's wife (my best friend said he would disown me if I didn't), and got on the plane. I was very sad to leave. I really did enjoy my time and comradery with Antonio.

I tried to sleep on the flight home, but I knew that it would be useless. I finished my book, and started to write of my exploits in Peru on my boss' laptop computer.

In Mexico City I missed my connecting flight. This was because my luggage was not booked through. So, I had to go through immigration and customs to get it. I got another flight and then couldn't carry on my suitcase because of my tools. During the run around to check in my luggage I lost my brand new jacket. This I didn't find out till I unpacked my luggage the next day.

I got back to the flyaway and was so irritable and burned out by the trip, I forgot I had a ticket to get out of the parking lot. The attendant didn't like my attitude, but he made up a new ticket for the added expense of $1.00. I paid him and was out of there. Fitting end of a shitty trip.

All my friends wanted to know how the trip went. They had visions of me swinging from the vines of the jungle while drinking booze with naked chicks. When I started to tell them, most of them didn't want to hear all of it.