Miscellaneous Thoughts on Living In an Enormous City

Mexico City is a very modern city...skyscrapers, an underground metro, wifi everywhere. But the process for residential recycling is this:

1) recycling truck stops in the middle of the street, blocking all traffic

2) a man gets out and rings a bell while walking up and down the street

3) neighbors carry out bundled cardboard and glass and so forth, or sometimes just bags of mixed recycling. 

4) the rest of the garbage men collect and sort the trash in the street and load it onto the truck

There are so many jobs here, or at least when you go to a business there are a lot of employees. Restaurants are staffed up. Stores have multiple people inside to offer assistance the second you walk in. Security guards stand at every door. Workers are employed by the city to sweep the park sidewalks every single morning. A man mops the stairs outside of our apartment every single morning. All five flights. On Monday mornings the whole city smells like Fabuloso. And if you aren't employed, you sell stuff.  I was sitting at a cafe with my Spanish tutor and was offered candy (typical), pumpkin laser pointers (not typical but it was Halloween), finger puppets, and tiny potted cactuses! There was a man selling some gorgeous MCM tables on the sidewalk. Two ladies open up a stand with second hand clothing every morning at the end of our block. It's really expensive here, so even people with college degrees and professional jobs, have side hustles. Maybe Uber, maybe running tours for tacos or Lucha Libre, or teaching Spanish, or teaching art to kids, or they're in a band. 

A lot of people wear uniforms to work. The nannies wear scrubs. The guy that opens the door in the apartment building wears a security uniform. The people that work in the pharmacies wear white coats. There are people that walk around with public health information and they have special vests on emblazoned with their political party (Morena! Currently in control so it's everywhere.) 

The background noise is constant. A solo trumpet player circling the block, a man shouting about fruit for sale from the back of a truck, the amplified recordings of the junk buyers looking for scrap metal, the horns honking when gridlock happens, the whistle of cyclists and police officers, someone singing while washing dishes. 

I do not worry about my kids being too loud, at all.