An unpleasant encounter with a wayward expat driver compelled me to switch from my intended upbeat writing on flowering jacaranda trees and other lovely signs of Spring to a darker topic.

It happened last Sunday as my daughter was driving down a narrow street headed towards the Ajijic beach. I was riding shot gun. We were close to the end of the last block when a bright yellow ATV shot around the corner. Instead of pulling over to an empty spot at the curb on his left, the white-haired driver (name and nationality unknown) plowed ahead, braking practically nose to nose in front of our car.  With hand signals he indicated he wanted us to get out of his way.

Bad tactic. Daughter threw the car into park, crossed her arms, and stared him down raising one eyebrow for emphasis. She stuck her head out the window and called out, “It’s a one way street.” He bellows back, “I know!” By the way, the lake front road he came from is also one way, in the opposite direction he was traveling.

There we were, neither driver budging in the proverbial Mexican stand-off.  Finally the old geezer begrudgingly pulled over on the sidewalk to his right, leaving just enough space for us to squeeze by. “Thanks for your courtesy,” he snarled facetiously as we passed inches apart.

We drove on, astonished. Anyone with a modicum of good manners would have recognized being at fault and accommodated the car due the right of way.

My fiercely proud Mexican hija was fuming. “It’s our country. I can’t stand Gringos who think they own the place!”

We chilled out over brunch, and set off towards our next destination driving east along Constitución. Less than half way down the block a huge black State Police pick-up appeared, heading straight towards us in the wrong direction. We looked for a spot to move aside, because who’s going to mess with The Law? But no. The truck stopped, backed up to the corner and turned down the cross street. The irony of the polite gesture did not escape us.

The rude ATV driver has plenty of company in our town. I often see expats with a twisted sense of entitlement blatantly flaunt the rules of the road for their own convenience.

They park along curbs painted with yellow lines, up to the edge of tight corners along narrow streets, or with the rear ends of their vehicles sticking out far from the curb, blocking the way for other drivers.  They ride around yakking on cell phones, seat belts unfastened, with pet pups perched in their laps or making illegal turns, only to complain bitterly if traffic cops bust them for breaking the law. Some admit to paying off officers on the spot and then whine about corruption.

Sure, there are plenty of Mexican drivers who do the same. But there’s no excuse for guests in this country behave like this. When in Rome, why not do as you would in the place you came from?