I NEVER thought that my "Gentleman's C" - level of French knowledge would come in SO handy!

It was Spring Break just before all my friends and I were to leave for college. My buddies and I had all played football together since middle school so we decided we would take our senior trip together. This would be my last hoorah with my friends. Because all but one were going to Central Michigan University, and if you live in Michigan or surrounding states you would know that Chippewas and Broncos do not get along. We all took a trip down to Cancun Mexico in the middle of April when all other drunk high school kids leave the country to make poor decisions.

The first few nights in Cancun were amazing, wet T-shirt contests, topless girls, open bars, weed on every corner, and everything was dirt cheap...it was heaven for an eighteen year old guy. We all got caught up in the craziness of Mexico and one night I found myself wasted, alone, and worst of all completely broke miles from my hotel and the bar was closing.

I wandered over to some guys I'd met from England all in their mid 20's and hoped to chill with them for the night. Perhaps maybe even smoke some grass and sing those funny songs they love to sing when they're drunk have a good night, or morning it was up for debate. But after going to another bar with them I was again drunk and alone, I'd lost a second group of friends.

Just as I'm about to begin my drunken trek back to my hotel I hear, "Hey Michigan!" and I turn only to see these three guys I had met in the line to get into the club. The guys were a bunch of weird, but interesting Canadians from Manitoba. After some brief conversation they tell me they have a rental car and would gladly drive me to my hotel. And as we all know, when forced between walking alone and getting into a random car full of drunk Canadians, a drunk kid will opt for the car.

So we begin to walk to their car which is only a few blocks away. Suddenly every man in the group was struck with the urge to piss. Unfortunatley we were outdoors on the side of a busy road and before leaving for Mexico I was told three things, "don't drink the water, don't get in fights, and DON'T PISS IN PUBLIC!" So naturally we all dropped trou and began unloading into the lagoon. And just as I turn back and zip up I see those blazing red and blue lights drive past followed by screeching tires and reverse lights.

Great, I was about to get sent to jail for the night because I didn't have enough money to even bribe the cops like everyone else does. We had a blinding spotlight flashed on us and as I walked towards the truck the guy beside me says, "Holy shit dude, I have a gram of coke in my pocket!"

EVEN BETTER, now I'd be going to jail for pissing in public and with a guy who has coke...I thought I was going to become someone's senorita. The police grabbed me and threw me against the car. We went through the usual "spread em" and they searched me for everything only finding a lighter an empty pack of cigarettes and my Hotel Key, no money, no ID.

To understand how the rest of this goes I must explain that that night I was TRASHED. I'd started drinking at the swim up bar at 10AM and hadn't stopped. The officers even had to take away the giant yard glass I had full of Cranberry and vodka to pat me down. I was a whole new level of drunk, that was what a friend of mine from CMU would call "donkey sauced." So the events that followed were directly attributed to my BAC.

They shined the flash light in my blood shot eyes and asked in English, "what are you doing? What’s your name, ID? Where are you from?" and I suddenly had a moment of drunken genius … or so I thought.

"Je suis Francais!" I said trying to remember everyone from the two years I slept through French class where I maintained what I call a gentlemen's C. "Je parle seulement français" I just kept repeating, "français" and the officers began looking at each other confused, "No ablo!" I would say and randomly blurt out words about shopping in a department store because that was the last chapter I could remember.

The officer looks at me and says, "Vaminos" or something to that effect and points away as the Canadians are thrown onto the hood of the truck and searched, "Merci beacoup" I say as I stumble off picking up my spilled drink only to walk for the next half hour back to my hotel Safe and not in Mexican jail.

When I returned home to Michigan I walked up to my French teacher and told her the whole situation. She was disappointed, but pleased that her teaching actually helped me. And never in my life did I ever think that being a Mediocre French student would ever keep me from going to Mexican Jail.