The Ugly American Syndrome: Why American Expats in Mexico Deserve Some Slack

I've written quite a bit about The Ugly American Syndrome. In my columns, print and online magazines, and in every book I've written, I've mentioned this topic. I get a lot of mail from readers, either praising and agreeing with me or chiding and condemning me.

As of today, I think I will begin cutting Americans some slack, especially American expats in Mexico, regarding The Ugly American Syndrome. My visit to the bank today convinced me that maybe I've been too harsh and need to lighten up a bit. I think my readers (the chiders and condemners) in San Miguel de Allende might breathe a collective sigh of relief over this announcement.

What happened is something that should not have surprised or shocked me. I guess I simply have reached the end of my expat rope-at least today. When I get my quarterly royalty checks from my book publishers, I take them to my Mexican bank and deposit them. Because they are drawn on a foreign account in the States, there is understandably a hold on these checks.

I get that and it doesn't bother me one bit.

But here is what I've been told ever since I began depositing royalty checks into this account:

"There will be a two-week hold on this check."

At the end of two weeks, the wife and I go off to the ATM to check the balance and the funds are not there. We go back to the bank. The bank officer tells us:

"Oh, there is always a three-week hold on foreign checks."

We wait another week, go to the ATM, and the funds aren't there. So, we go again to the bank.

"Oh, there is a 22-day hold on all foreign checks."

The next day, we go to the ATM and the funds are not there. We go into the bank:

"There must be some mistake. There is always a 25-day hold on all foreign checks."

We wait three more days and go to the ATM to check things out. There are no funds. We drag ourselves into the bank with the wife trying to talk me out of murdering someone.

"Oh my, my! There is always a 30-day hold on all foreign checks."

In Mexico, as I have written before, nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is as it seems. Nothing will work with any degree of logic or reason known to the rest of the world. Here two weeks can mean pretty much any amount of time. In Guanajuato, Mexico, two weeks means many things. It can mean three weeks, twenty-two days, twenty-five days, or thirty days. And let me tell you, each bank employee will tell you something different each time you make a deposit. They will look you straight in the eye and tell you whatever comes to their minds, whether it is the truth or not.

What I do not get is just why no bank employee knows how anything works! This brings me to a conversation with an American expat who has lived in Mexico much longer than I have. She said once that what Mexico needs is a Business Manager. These people need a Business Manager in everything that has to do with anything to show them how things work. This is because in all aspects of life, at least in Guanajuato, no one who does anything that has to do with something knows just how it is suppose to work.

Trying to do banking in Guanajuato is not the only thing that doesn't work. I would love to tell you that this is so but I would be lying.

Once we tried going to the movies. The theater manager was at a party and was having too good of a time to show up with the keys to the box office to sell tickets. She sent word that someone was welcome to come and get the keys and sell tickets, otherwise we would all have to wait.

Can you begin to imagine what would have happened in America when this movie theater manager finally showed up? She or he would have been lynched by the crowd.

Here is the really bad thing. This sort of "Qué Será, Será, whatever will be, will be..." service is vastly tolerated all over this country. The Mexican nationals, at least from my observation, seem to tolerate a level of service from providers that Americans and Europeans would not tolerate for a second!

Only those who have spent time internationally seem to be perturbed by those of their fellow countrymen who settle for or offer this, "The future's not ours to see, Qué Será, Será..." service.

Well, the next time I see some American tourist or expat acting out The Ugly American Syndrome, I am going to march up to them, pat them on the back, and tell them,

"I feel your pain, Bubba!"