Thursday, July 22, 2010

El Pistolero

A little preface for this post:

At work, we have a Monthly Update Meeting to discuss metrics, performance, announcements, games, food, jokes, laughter, etc. They are really a lot of fun, and each one is specifically themed. This month, the theme was Super Heroes, and we had a Super Hero Essay Writing Contest.

We were supposed to think of a time that we we're a super hero for one of our customers. So, for some reason I wanted to write a story about a super-hero in Mexico.. I was inspired by movies like "The Three Amigos," "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly," and other westerns that I've enjoyed.

So I wrote about a common issue that customers will call in with. There are two different versions of the search page on the website, and some of our customer really love the Old Search. Occasionally, after their browser updates or something, the New Search page will load by default, and some of our customers get very frightened by it. So I decided I would write my story about those experiences. Also note, there are a lot of work specific inside jokes in this essay. Here it is (to be read with a classic Mexican accent):

Some might say that super-hero-ing should be a public service, and any viewpoint to the contrary is just selfish. To those people, I say simply, you’re wrong.

I wasn’t born rich like that pretty-boy Bruce Wayne, and I didn’t come from outer space with crazy super powers like that over grown boy-scout Superman. I was born poor, raised poor, and I’ll probably die poor. But I was born with skills, like 30 or 50 or 51 or 52 skills, something like that. However, my greatest skill? My way with a pistol. Nobody wields a pair of six-shooters against the forces of evil like I do.

I make my living in the arid Sonoran desert of Mexico. The way I see it, I should be getting paid for my ‘public service.’ I mean they are lucky to even have me as option. Unfortunately, this is not case everywhere. Believe me. I tried to make it in Geneapolis, but anytime I finally made a sale, people would cancel on me and go with Captain FamilySearch! That guy? I mean, sure, he can do some of what I do, but there is a reason I charge the fee! You can’t get skills like mine anywhere else.

So, I moved back to my home, and I took a new name: The champion of liberty, the defender of truth, El Pistolero!

So there I was, in my not-so-secret lair (the Burrito and Sons taco truck on the corner) selling my tacos (crime fighting doesn’t pay all my bills), when I saw a little señorita and her hijo, approaching the truck. The little boy has a single tear in his eye when he said, “¡Ayùdanos! Help us Pistolero! Our village is under some sort of weird spell. We went to our beds one night, and in the morning when we arose, we found the town completely changed! We don’t know how to do anything!”

“¡Si! ¡Si!” cried the señorita, “For example, I used to be able to go to our villages library and I knew right were we kept our special town census records. And now I have to go into the library, go open another door, go through another door, then fill out some paperwork, and then I get my records. It is all so new; I cannot learn how to do it. We hate it! We hate this new village! We need your help!”

“Well Señorita, I have seen this before, and I have just the thing for you. Here are some step by step instructions I wrote down that you can take back to your village! Then you can fix the problem yourself!” I handed her my little paper. The little lady was not pleased.

“Por favor, I cannot fix this problem myself! I do not want to read these instructions, I need you to solve our problem!”

“Señorita, I will help you, but first you must know, I charge a fee.” I handed her my terms and conditions, and I continued on, “Please note that if you do not cancel my services before your renewal date, you will be charged another 155 pesos. Be sure to get a confirmation number.”

She accepted my terms and conditions, and she gave a bag of 155 pesos that she had collected from every member of the village. I climbed on my horse, Pepe, and I followed her and her son back to her village. Si, I had seen this before, and it was clearly the work of El Searcho Nuevo! He strikes entire villages without any warning, completely changing the way they used to live their lives! How frustrating, right!?

It would clearly be a show down today in the village… just me, and El Nuevo.

“Okay El Nuevo, come out now! It is time to meet your doom, you have slightly inconvenienced these people long enough!” I walked up the main street, calling out for El Nuevo, challenging him.

Soon, I heard the sound of spurs coming around the building. “Pistolero, at last we meet. You think you can defeat me?”

“Si, El Nuevo, however, I’m pretty sure, you’ll just come back again later, most likely after the villagers throw out their cookies.”

We stood about 50 feet apart from each other, each one squinting harder the last. I was poised to draw mis pistoles and unleash a heaping can of justice on this Searcho Nuevo. After what seemed like hours, I saw Nuevo make his move. I admit, he was fast, but I was much faster. “Pow! Bang! Pew pew pew!” I had emptied my pistols of patience and careful guided education, and El Searcho Nuevo was no more. The village reverted back to its original form.

“Viva El Pisolero! Ay ay ay ay!” The people cheered for they had their Old Village back. The little Señorita came running up to me, and she gave me un abrazo grande.

“Gracias! Muchas gracias, Pistolero! You have saved us, for there is no way that we could have ever adapted to that new and horrible village!”

That night, the village celebrated their victory, and of course I stuck around. There were fireworks, los mariachis were playing their music, and oh the tacos that were made! Such a fiesta! As I was drinking some of my homemade horchata, I heard a voice quieting the crowd:

“Silénco! Quiet! Where is El Pistolero?” I answered him, “I am here Muchacho!”

“Pistolero, my village is in danger, I have spotted a terrible gang riding to pillage the town I come from. They are coming to steal parts of our trees, it is Los Arbolitos Bandidos! THE TREE BANDITS!”

And so, once again, I was off to help another sad and defeated village regain their freedom. Where there is frustration, I’ll be there. Where there is slight inconvenience, I’ll be there. When there is an overdraft fee, I’ll be there too, but I really won’t be able to help. Read the terms and conditions. I am always there when you need me (excluding Saturdays and Sunday). I am, El Pistolero!