When the world gives you lemons

It’s hard to be inconspicuous when you’re dressed in a rainbow poncho and matching sombrero, especially in a busy airport. Santo fidgeted as he walked past travellers decked out in business suits and holiday clothes, their judgemental gazes seemingly burning holes in him. He adjusted his large backpack and kept moving through the crowd, head down, gaze averted, short legs pumping away at the tiled floor. It was always like this when he travelled – the stares, the pointing fingers, the rude comments – but he was getting used to it, at least to a degree. It wasn’t as if he really had a choice though. For years he had been representing Mexico at the different Pokemon championships around the world, and the body which organised the events insisted that every entrant wear his or her nation’s traditional costume wherever they went. They said it was to foster a ‘greater understanding of diverse cultural backgrounds’, but Santo suspected that they were just arseholes having a good laugh at his expense. A small boy called out as Santo trudged through the terminal. ‘Look, Grandpa! It’s Speedy Gonzales!’
Santo flipped out. He could deal with snide comments and staring businessmen, but he couldn’t deal with slurs from children, which is why he turned towards the kid and kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling across the floor. As the grandfather reached out to grab his grandson Santo disappeared into the crowd, insofar as a rainbow-poncho-wearing Mexican can ‘disappear’ in a crowd of Japanese businessmen. There were no heavy footfalls behind him, nor was there any shouting from security guards, so he kept moving at a constant pace towards the security checkpoint.

Pokemon Master! Who would’ve thought such a thing even existed? As far as most of the world was concerned, Pokemon just existed on television or in computer games designed for children with ADD. Santo and his competitors knew differently, they knew that Pokemon had a purpose in the world, which is why he was walking through Tokyo International Airport with a backpack crammed full of the little bastards. Santo maintained a love/hate relationship with his Pokemon charges – on the one hand he loved travelling the world and participating in the championships, on the other hand he hated being abused for his pastime and his nationality. As in the past, Japan was the worst place to visit – once people stopped laughing at the idea of a world Pokemon Championship, they laughed at the idea of a Mexican Pokemon Master. Santo was a nerd at heart, despite his violent temper, and he knew that he couldn’t fight a whole country, so every time he visited Japan he kept his head down and took the insults on the chin, except the ones aimed at him by six-year-olds. He hated kids. As he passed a bank of money exchange booths he glanced up to get his bearings, and froze solid. The security checkpoint was ahead, and he started to sweat. It was the hardest part of any trip for him because he was completely at the mercy of the guards on duty. If they insulted him, he had to ignore it, if a six-year-old insulted him he had to control the urge to punch the kid in the neck, if a bag search was required he had to open it and stand there, completely humiliated. Santo ducked into a bathroom on his left, washed his face and straightened his ridiculous poncho. ‘Respectability,’ he said to himself. ‘Others will not respect you if you do not respect yourself.’ He didn’t believe it one bit, and but adjusted his sombrero anyway. He straightened his pack as he left the bathroom and walked with purpose towards the checkpoint where a line of people waited to be processed. He started to sweat again, but hoped that he could explain it away by saying he’d just washed his face – security guards LOVE bullying sweaty passengers. To an airport guard ‘sweaty passenger’ means ‘terrorist’, and ‘sweaty Mexican passenger’ means ‘terrorist drug dealer’, so Santa couldn’t afford to take any chances. He put his bag down on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. The guard took one look at him and pulled him aside. ‘English?’ he asked.
‘Si. I mean, “yes”.’
‘Good. Is there something wrong, sir? Your face is red and you’re sweating. Is anything the bother?’
Santo relaxed – he could do this.
‘No, thank you. I’m fine. I just washed my face in the bathroom.’
The guard looked stared at Santo for a few seconds and said, ‘There was a problem with your backpack. Come this way please.’
Santo’s heart skipped a beat – he wasn’t worried in the way a bearded Muslim would be worried in this situation, he was worried in the way a nerd gets worried when a pretty girl finds his collection of action figures. The guard, carrying Santo’s backpack, led the way to a room with no windows, motioned Santo inside, and shut the door.
‘Would you please open your backpack, sir?’
‘I don’t understand. What’s going on?’
‘Open your pack.’
Santo sighed and his shoulders sagged. Here we go, he thought.
He unzipped his bag and flopped the top open, whereupon the guard burst out laughing. ‘What are these, sir? Your bag is full of dolls!’
‘They’re my Pokemon.’
‘You mean like the children’s toy?’
‘Yes. I’m here for the World Pokemon Championships. I’m representing Mexico.’
The guard was crying with laughter, tears streaming down his face. ‘That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! A Mexican po…po… Pokemon master! Hahahaha.’
Santo stood stock-still, his eyes downcast. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
The guard kept on laughing. ‘Wait… wait here. Ah. Haha. Let me show my colleague.’
The guard opened the door and called out to someone. A few seconds later another guard entered the room, and after a brief exchange in rapid Japanese burst out laughing. He had to hold the table to stop himself from falling over. ‘Ridiculous!’ he managed, before doubling up with laughter again.
‘Can I go now?’ asked Santo.
‘Why? Are you… are you SLEEPY?’ the guard burst out laughing again.
It took all of Santo’s willpower to control the urge to scream at the guard. He instead opted for a ‘That’s not very nice,’ before zipping up his backpack. ‘Just because I’m Mexican doesn’t mean I can’t be a Pokemon Master!’
The guards were lying on the floor in hysterical fits of laughter when Santo walked out. Tears were blooming in his eyes as he exited the terminal; how dare they! He hailed the first cab he saw and climbed into the back seat and gave the driver the address of a warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo. The driver, thankfully, didn’t bother him as they drove through the congested traffic, so Santo sat in quiet contemplation.

An hour later they arrived at a dilapidated warehouse which a surprising number of cars had parked outside. Santo paid the driver and entered the building through a side door, making sure no one saw him. Inside were lines and lines of trestle tables, behind which a number of men stood, each dressed in their national costumes. There was a German in lederhosen, a Russian in a tall fluffy hat, an Englishman in a top hat and tails, and many other people from many other countries. Santo walked up to the Japanese table and, without a word, opened his pack and lined up his Pokemon in front of him. The ‘Samurai’ curtly nodded. They stared at each other like seasoned combatants for a moment, stiffly shook hands, then burst out laughing.
‘Your costume looks ridiculous! It’s even better than last time! Rainbow? Really? Unbelievable!’
‘Yours isn’t much better. Who ever heard of a Samurai who stands five feet tall?’
The Samurai chuckled. ‘We all have our little fantasies. Did you have any trouble at the airport?’
Santo smiled. ‘Some, but the guards were too busy laughing at my poncho and my Pokemon to do a proper search.’
‘Good, good. It sounds like it went just as planned. Do you have our product?’
‘I do.’
Santo reached down and picked up a yellow Pokemon that he didn’t know the name of; what did he care what the stupid thing was called? It was just a doll. He tipped it over and stuck his hand up the bottom of it, rummaging around before pulling out a neatly-bundled package of white powder which he handed to the Samurai.
‘Outstanding. You really have a knack for this business, Santo. We’ll transfer the money into your account immediately.’
Santo lifted the brim of his hat slightly and smiled. ‘Thank you, you are most kind.’
As they rummaged around inside the rest of the dolls the small Japanese man turned to Santo and said, ‘I was disappointed to lose the last shipment, but I’m glad you adapted after such a negative development.’
Santo just shrugged. ‘It’s like they say back in Mexico: “When life gives you lemons, sell the lemons, buy some cocaine, and smuggle it to Japan inside the anus of a small animal.’ He paused. ‘Or something like that anyway.’