The Scorpion and Our Helpful Neighbors

The drawbacks and benefits of finding paradise in the tropics

Photo by sippakorn yamkasikorn

We thought we’d found our piece of paradise at an RV park in the tropics of the Yucatan; however, it didn’t take long to realize that the ‘paradise’ part may be a myth.

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After we’d purchased our own palapa, which was basically a grass roof over a large patio with an RV beneath, making outdoor living an adventure, we made a few discoveries fairly quickly.

Our backdoor neighbors, Abigail, and her husband Clayton, a Canadian couple, were great people — friendly and helpful — who’d parked their RV next to a tiled platform that sat behind our palapa. That tiled patio floor had been beneath a palapa roof a few years before until the owner of that palapa was booted out of the park for using his home as a place to serve drinks, and was charging for them. That was against park rules since it was in direct competition with the park’s own restaurant and bar.

When the man was told to leave the park and never return, he dismantled his palapa, taking the poles and grass roofing with him. But unable to take the concrete tiled floor with him made for a nice patio for those who parked their RV next to it. And for several years that had been Clayton and Abigail.

Clayton, a tallish, stocky man with white, close-cropped hair and a pleasant face, was a retired police officer in a high position in the police force in Toronto, Ontario, which helped us feel safe. Abigail was a slender, well-put-together, attractive woman, with short hair and an easy demeanor, who made jewelry. Both were always quick to smile and liked entertaining those who walked by with casual conversation.

Perhaps that aspect was the reason Clayton always knew what was going on in the park, or perhaps it was his cop instinct that told him what to watch for because he seemed to know about lots of things that others missed. This attribute became very helpful when there were questionable people walking about or when robberies began occurring throughout the park. Clayton ventured his opinion that those robberies were done by some of the guards, which turned out to be true. I had witnessed a break-in by a guard late one night when I needed to take our dog for his last walk.

I wasn’t far from Clayton and Abigail’s RV when I stopped near the palm tree between their tiled patio and the next palapa to wait for our pup’s sniff test to be finished when I saw movement in the corner of my eye. I glanced up to see a guard look around furtively before entering the palapa we were near. Because I was close to the dark palm tree in the shadows, he didn’t see me standing not far from him.

Abigail had mentioned that Pat and Mike, the owners of the palapa, would be gone for a few days, so I knew it was empty. I walked closer, peering in through the open doorway to see where the guy went and what he was doing inside where he had no business being. When I saw him looking through cupboards and drawers, I ran and got Clayton.

We both quietly walked back to the doorway of the palapa and peered in. The guard was standing in front of the door of the trailer with one hand on the doorknob when Clayton yelled, “Hey! What are you doing?”

The man looked up, saw us, turned, and fled out the backdoor. The next morning, Clayton told the chief guard about the incident, and because Clayton had such a good reputation for knowing his stuff, the guard was not only fired on the spot, but taken to jail. We knew then, without question, that Clayton and Abigail were good people to have as neighbors.

Photo by Flex Point Security Inc.

They were also very good neighbors in more ways than being knowledgeable about crime. Like on the day I was to find out the hard way about Mother Nature’s underworld of creatures. This was during a period of remodeling inside our RV trailer to level the floor and pop out a wall for more space. It was going to be a much nicer place to sleep in, but in the meantime, the construction had stirred up the creature’s world beneath the RV.

I, being an early riser, would get dressed in the dark, so as not to wake my husband Marty, and one morning, while putting on my long-sleeved chambray shirt, which I had retrieved from the sofa outside before going to bed the night before, I felt a jab, as if someone had rammed a darning needle into the fleshy part of my arm near the elbow.

Quietly I opened the door and ran out the back to ease off the shirt. I’d sensed that I would find something rather nasty that I did not want to leave inside our living quarters where it could easily run away and hide to strike again.

When I pulled the shirt off, I jerked the sleeve wrong side out and found the culprit crawling out of the folds of the fabric. It was a medium-sized, maroon-colored scorpion. One that was not poisonous, thankfully. It had likely ventured out from under the RV and up onto the outdoor sofa into my shirt the day before. Even though it was not deadly, it hurt me, so I knocked it to the ground and beat the crap out of the little beast with the garment since I had come out without shoes.

I heard a feminine voice ask, “What are you doing, Marla?” I looked up to see Abigail standing at the edge of their patio with a cigarette in her hand looking at me with concern.

I told her, “A scorpion had been hiding in my shirt, which stung me when I put it on, the bastard! And since I didn’t put on shoes before I came out, I was beating it to death with the shirt.”

“Oh no! That’s terrible. You need to run and see Angela fast. As a nurse, she will know what to do for you.”

“I‘ll just take a Benadryl and will be fine,” I told her, “Since the son-of-a-bitch wasn’t one of the deadly ones.”

Photo by Federico Faccipieri

But she kept insisting. “I know there aren’t any deadly scorpions in this part of Mexico, but they are dangerous if you have an allergic reaction to a sting. I think you need to go see the nurse because one never knows the effects from such a sting.” She added, “And I wouldn’t wait.”

I acquiesced and took her advice. After taking Benadryl and putting on my shoes, I walked hurriedly down the road to see the park’s nurse, Angela.

At Angel’s, when I explained my reason for knocking, she told me to hurry in, sit down and take off my rings, “Now!” she’d demanded.

I tried to take them off, but my fingers had already started to swell. Angela rubbed lotion on my fingers for lubrication to get the rings off, but even with that, it took some effort. She then gave me some tablets to take immediately, and then more to take in a couple of hours. They were for allergic reactions as well as for taking down swelling.

She instructed, “Go home and relax. Do not exert yourself. It’s important to just rest for a few hours. Let Marty make you breakfast.”

I thanked her profusely and promised to bring a bottle of wine, which was the only payment she’d accept, and went home to relax as recommended. But what did “relax” really mean, I wondered. She hadn’t explained specifics, like what would happen if I didn’t relax enough or in the right way.

And because of that lack of specifics, feeling bored just sitting, I saw a need to sweep the floor, a non-strenuous thing to do, I thought, because sweeping slowly can be relaxing. So I got up slowly and swept the tile floor with slow and easy movements.

After getting up and preparing breakfast for us both, Marty went for a walk. Upon returning he said, “I just saw Angela who asked about you. When I told her that when I left you were sweeping the floor, she screamed, ‘No!’ and told me to hurry home to tell you to stop immediately. So, stop sweeping!” Marty commanded. “She said that I was to make sure you just sit quietly, otherwise you would suffer a major headache.”

“Ah, shit! Too late,” I said as I dropped the broom and grabbed my head. “It feels like my head is ready to explode.”

I eased myself onto the sofa and laid back and groaned, “I should have taken her advice more seriously in the first place, but I didn’t think that a small amount of movement would hurt anything. I certainly didn’t think that my slow movements would bring on this gawd-awful pain.”

“I’ll get you some Tylenol and a glass of water,” Marty told me and rushed off.

“I think I’ll need the whole bottle to knock this down,” I told him. “I’ve never felt such pain,” I moaned.

Marty sat by my side, rubbing my temples. “I hope it goes away soon,” he cooed sympathetically.

Mac helped me up and into the trailer and made sure I was comfortable then left me alone.

I was grateful for Abigail’s advice about going to see Angela, the expert, if only I had heeded the nurse’s advice literally. The pain lasted the whole day, and not even a nap or painkillers helped relieve it.

From that day on, I was careful not to leave any clothing outdoors, and would always check my shoes, if they were not flip flops, before putting them on. I had seen too many other creepy crawlers looking for shelter to not think that my scorpion experience might be a one-time-only episode.

We’d also heard that the robberies had stopped, which seemed to have been happening weekly, and we were happy about that piece of news also, especially since we were instrumental in having the culprit thrown in jail.

I wondered if we’d get some peace and quiet for a while in our little piece of paradise, or if something new would come along to disrupt it once again, and I don’t mean the agouti that just wandered in.

Photo by Dan Freeman