Step On My Leg! Or, How I Went to Cabo and Discovered the True Meaning of Customer Service!
by Dan Taylor

Part 4: Step on My Leg!
Thanks – grudgingly – to the kindness of my pal Mary M and Christine's charm, we are staying an additional day.

Monday's wedding is a fun, casual affair. The happy couple got hitched on the beach surrounded by family and friends, and the resort even covered up the "No Swimming! Dangerous Riptide!" signs. One wonders how many tourists were lost before those were installed.

Tuesday comes and we decide to make the most of our last full day. A plan is made to climb the rocks that separate our resort from Lover's Beach. Realizing that we're low on film, we detour through the next resort over – named Solamar – to see if we can snag another role.

The walk through Solamar does nothing but enhance the "Written By Rod Serling" quality of the entire trip. As we walk from burning sand to poolside, a man inquires if I will trade him my Oriental shirt, which he admires. Having seen too many episodes of UNSOLVED MYSTERIES, I decline, only to have him explain to us that during the war against the United States, Ireland fought for Mexico which is why Irish people don't need a visa to enter Mexico.

While pondering this I become distracted by a bikini-clad "little person" walking from bar to poolside, where her equally height-challenged companion awaits. After a sitcom-worthy double take, I realize that I have not thought about dwarves and midgets taking vacation since that great episode of LOVE BOAT where EIGHT IS ENOUGH's Grant Goodeve had midget parents!

Foiled in our plan to purchase film, we make our way over the rocks and decide that the climb back is a tad perilous and we should grab a water taxi. As there is no dock at the edge of Lover's Beach, getting a water taxi is a fitting experience during this all-too-brief vacation.

As I've mentioned, the waters off Cabo are not for the timid. Even at Lover's Beach there's a good three feet of rough surf causing the water taxis to bob up and down, sometimes violently. One would not be surprised to find that a few tourists each year get conked on the melon after too much beachfront tequila.

Which is what makes the next five minutes a bona fide vacation moment that we will talk about for years to come. There, 10 feet out into the crashing, surging surf stands one-hundred and fifteen pounds of soaking wet customer service. Once we indicate that we want a ride, this bony, wiry dispatcher motions in a boat and – I'm still not sure how – grabs and steadies it as we wade in.

As he struggles with the rocking, bobbing boat he looks at us with deadly seriousness and barks, "Step on my leg!"

I look down and see that he has, indeed, planted one bony extremity into the sand and bent it – step-like – so we can climb aboard. Chris shrugs, throws her shoes over and launches herself into the boat thanks to our friend. Satisfied, he turns to me, beams and shouts above the crashing waves, "Step on my leg!"

I quickly calculate that I am a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than my service-minded, but delusional, friend. He gestures again with his knee, smiling and nodding. Thinking that all this vacation needs is for me to cripple a native, I demure, grab hold as the boat comes down and pull myself up with whatever strength I have in me.

As the water taxi cruises back to the marina, I stare out and think of Mary M and everybody else I've encountered over the years who has come up short on the customer service end. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as Mr. Step on My Leg grabs another rope, steadies a boat and sticks out his leg to help another group of tourists aboard.

I can't wait to go back to Cabo.