School Wall Paint War

Sure seemed like a good idea, one of those times when you are proud of yourself with coming up with such a good solution to a problem. A win-win situation for everyone, the likes of which you might hear about on Oprah or maybe something Dr. Phil might suggest.

The problem was the school wall directly across the street from a rental house that I was managing. The house is very nice inside and the nightly rental rate is quite reasonable. It is a quiet residential neighborhood. I like the area. I live there myself.

The problem was when guests first pull up in front of the house. The neighborhood is quiet and residential but there are also a number of unkempt homes, a few beat-up cars collecting dust in the street, some trash blowing around (none of this being too unusual for a Vallarta neighborhood) and the school wall.

The school wall has graffiti. Not just little graffiti, big graffiti, neighborhood kids marking out their territory. Very specific lettering that identifies the neighborhood. This is all fine and dandy but when guests first arrive at the house the big graffiti was really turning them off. One group, without even entering, told the rental broker whom accompanied them that they didn’t like the neighborhood and they left without even going in the house, which is a shame because it is a nice house and a real Vallarta neighborhood, not some artificial, characterless, gated community in Nuevo Vallarta. People out in the streets: old people, vendors, school kids, and teenagers with spray paint cans.

I was thinking, Jeesh, I really need to paint that wall. I was wondering how much time to get permission, how much paint, how much of the extensive wall to paint, how long this was all going to take and cost.

Then it came to me. I could find out who does the graffiti and have them paint the wall. Have the neighborhood kids invest in the neighborhood and take a little ownership in the wall. God, they could do a mural.

I knew if I painted it they would just regraffiti it but if they painted it and I tied in some kind of contract for maintenance…ohh, think of it…they do the work, they buy the stuff, they get the permission, they paint it, they like me because I pay them, the school likes me, the owner of the house is happy, future guests are not freaked out and I’m happy.

Sounds pretty good doesn’t it. And it was…initially.

I approached one of the larger kids that always sit around on the corner with his friends. Occasionally they are drinking beer, sometimes smoking pot but usually just sitting around. I know they are responsible for some petty theft, bullying, minor drug sales, and so forth but they are not really bad kids. No knives, no drive-bys. They, for the most part, have been respectful of me and the guests at the house I take care of.

I asked Juan, we’ll call him Juan, if he knew who was doing the graffiti. He said he might. I explained to him what I had in mind. I offered to pay for all the materials, donate $100 pesos, and buy a case of beer (for those of age) plus soda and juices for all. I further stated I would donate another $100 pesos, beer and juice every six months thereafter for as long as that section of wall remained graffiti free. I also mentioned that if this experiment works that there may be other work and rewards in the future. Juan liked the idea. He then told me that yes he knew all the culprits involved and would talk to them and he would get back to me the following day.

He did get back to me the next day and I gave him some money up front to buy paint which he did. He provided receipts and asked for some more money for more supplies which I gave him.

Within a day or two they were painting. Not just the kid I made the deal with but a number of others. Everything seemed rosy even the color was a close match.

They never sought prior permission from the school but I heard from a neighbor that the school was happy and wanted to talk with me. Apparently, they would buy the paint if more of the wall got painted.

It was the talk of the neighborhood for a couple of days. I paid the kids and bought their beverages. They got a nice tip and a few extra goodies to boot. They had a little party on the street corner where they hang out.

It was a couple of weeks before I had any inkling that everything was unraveling and would result in blood in the streets.

I was in another neighborhood close to my own, walking home. This vaguely familiar, scruffy looking guy walks up to me. He is angry and vocal. He was so upset that I worried he was going to hit me before I could figure out what was going on. The gist of it was that he felt I stiffed some people in payment for the paint and labor involved in the school wall painting.

According to him, he lived in a nearby competing neighborhood and that he was the one who purchased or otherwise provided the paint but that Juan never reimbursed him for these expenses. Juan told him that the “pinche gringo” never paid him. So now this guy was in my face and ready to beat up the pinche gringo for his money.

I assured him that all was in order on my part and that I just happened to have with me in my day pack, signed receipts for every peso I spent on labor, materials, food and beverage. I showed him all this as he continued to sputter about his paint and money.

He was livid. It slowly dawned on him that I was telling him the truth and I was not the one responsible for his deceit. He told me that some of the receipts were fakes.

I told the poor guy that I was very sorry he was taken advantage of but I was not the one who did it. He wanted me to go, then and there, to Juan’s house and talk with him. I told him I would talk with Juan but not right at the moment.

I saw Juan a day or two later and was not very happy with him. Juan reassured me that everything was okay, that the other guy was a little wacky, and he would work out everything with him.

Later that day, I happened to be walking to the local corner store. As I rounded the corner I could see Juan seated in a chair out on the side walk. Further past him I could see the aggrieved guy rounding the opposite corner.

Juan did not see me as I approached. He was fixed on the aggrieved one who was shouting at him angrily as he approached from the other direction. He was yelling that he had talked to the gringo and saw receipts and so forth. Juan, without knowing I was just paces from the back side of him was telling the guy that the gringo was a liar, the gringo never paid him. The aggrieved one told him, “ask him yourself.”

Juan turned around and saw me with a look of surprise I imagine similar to the time when his mother caught him ¬¬¬¬in back with the lingerie section of the Woolworth advertisement.

Before I could say anything, before Juan could get out of his chair and just as he was turning back to glance at his accuser, the other guy had distanced the last few steps toward Juan the blows commenced.

If I had to put down money it would have been on Juan. He was by far the tallest and beefiest of the two. While Juan was a big teenager the other one was older, maybe late twenties, scrawny and a little ragged and as it turned, tough and scrappy.

Holy Paint Additives, those boys had wind. They were kicking the crap out of each other, first on the sidewalk then it spilled into a little video arcade, knocking over one of the video machines. They tumbled out of there back into the sidewalk and ended up inside the doorway of a corner store. The lady running the store and several people in the gathered crowd interceded to prevent the store from getting busted up.

Blood…why they could have donated a couple of pints to the Red Cross with the blood that was everywhere, a good deal of it being down the front of Juan’s shirt.

Now that is entertainment.

It didn’t end there. Later, Brian and some of his friends from my neighborhood grabbed the guy’s brother who walking by, minding his own business, and beat him up. This in turn led to the wiry guy coming over with a gang from his neighborhood and there was apparently a West Side Story sort of melee (no weapons) with the boys from this side of the river.

It wasn’t long before graffiti was back up on the wall.

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Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved.
Jimi Grant – Nopali Printworks
Puerto Vallarta, Mexico