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Watch My Nose!
My Favorite Chauffeur

By John Troesser
The list of International Words and Expressions is a short one. “Okay” or O.K. is certainly one. Although there are various stories of the origin of Okay, it’s widely accepted that it’s an American expression. But Taxi is also universally understood, although no one seems to remember its linguistic source.


I once had a favorite taxi driver in Reynosa, Mexico. He was a local celebrity of sorts which I didn’t fully understand. He was middle-aged and graying, but he had a mustache as dark as the shoe-polish mustache of the early Groucho Marx. He was also getting thick around the middle – an occupational hazard.

The premier taxi stand in Reynosa was the one at the International Bridge. By premier – I mean the busiest. Tourists visiting Reynosa for the first time usually took a cab to downtown before they realized it was only a six block walk. Whatever arrangement the taxi syndicate had with los choferes in Reynosa, they paid dearly for the privilege of working “La Puente.” The bridge.

Frederico didn’t want to pay the baksheesh to use the reserved parking for taxis, so he usually parked at a stand a block away. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he was home, but if I asked for him by name, the driver I spoke to would call Frederico's house and he’d soon be there. On one occasion, the driver took me to Frederico’s house (at Frederico’s request) and then waived the fare, saying it was his “pleasure.”

I got to know Frederico on my thrice-yearly visits and he graciously allowed me to practice my Spanish on him. I told him to feel free to correct me, which I immediately regretted. Often we would arrive at my destination without me getting to a second sentence. Frederico would still be verbally diagramming my first utterance, even while I was paying him off.

I told Frederico that I drove a taxi in Houston and even though the working scenarios were very different, we bonded. On one occasion, I asked Frederico what he had done in his pre-taxista life (no one gets into the profession voluntarily). He replied in English: “Watch my nose” and immediately turned to face me. I wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but I usually do what I’m told. I watched his nose. Nothing happened. But Frederico continued to look as if he expected a reaction.

As noses go, his made Karl Malden’s look “pert” by comparison. I must’ve shrugged and gave a confused look for he then demanded – “Watch my nose!” Again, a confused look from me. Frederico sighed. We happened to be passing just a block from his house, so he drove me down a parallel street (Mexican taxis aren’t metered) and pointed into his backyard. There, covering every square foot of space where there was normally a dirt yard, was a boxing ring. He had been a prize fighter! It should’ve been evident by the flat thing with two nostrils that was spread under his eyes. He started making jabs at an imaginary opponent – something I wish he had done earlier.

This also explained his celebrity status among the other taxistas who were either boxing fans or were afraid Frederico might get annoyed with them and kick their asses. I explained the subtle difference between “look at my nose” and “watch my nose” and Frederico laughed so hard I was thankful he wasn’t drinking anything - even though that would’ve been something to watch.

The rest of trip was routine, but Reynosa had recently upgraded its downtown with beautiful cast iron streetlights which were then just coming on. The streetlights matched the numerous benches and even kiosks – all painted a dark hunter’s green. Fred started commenting on how beautiful they looked. I agreed. “Yes, that’s the most beautiful bench I’ve ever seen. Wow. Stop the car so I can get a picture of that streetlight.” “Como se dice sarcasm?”

Frederico pulled alongside a bench and pointed. I heard the words “my daughter.” Surely his daughter wasn’t a park bench. I was asking myself if benches were masculine or feminine in Spanish. After a few more words, I understood that Frederico’s daughter was a civil engineer and her design for Reynosa's makeover was chosen over many other entries. (Either that or he really did think that bench was his daughter.)

I was sorry I didn’t think to get a photo of Frederico standing under one of his daughter’s street lamps – the glow of the father’s pride would’ve dimmed the sodium vapor light.


July 13, 2014 Column
© John Troesser
More Columns by John Troesser
Relate Topics: Mexico | Columns | People | Texas
Relate Topics: Columns | Mexico | People | Texas
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