I was taught by Miss Shepherd that The Mayans were extinct.
But here they were.
Short, stout people, selling silver trinkets to tourists.
"My silver is not plated." they all repeated as you walked by their booths.
Pause in front of any of their tables and you'd be treated to the same joke.
"For you wife." as they hold up a silver necklace, "Not plated."
"For your girlfriend" as they hold up a pretty pair of earings, "Not plated."
And the punchline, a giant machete, held threateningly, "For your mother in law." delivered with Henny Youngman inflection and a big silly grin.
Many of them spoke no English beyond these lines and you were forced to conjure an image of the traveling salesman that sold them these plated trinkets and bad jokes. Hell, he done more for them than I had or would. He'd certainly not cheated them as badly as Miss Shepherd had.
Step into a tent and you'd see that there were worse things than extinction.
The Mayan gods, represented in sculpture, fucking each other, doggy style, sixty-nine, missionary, wheel barrow. You'd pay extra for the threesome, sculpted in rough red clay, you know, to make them really authentic.