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Back in 2007-2008 I was working in the Mexican state of Tabasco which is on the Yucatan peninsula. One evening myself and four co-workers had traveled by taxi into downtown Villahermosa to one of those Argentinian style meat restaurants. Great food, good wine, and good company. After dinner we called for taxis. Three co-workers including the line manager got into the first cab. Myself and a mechanical engineer got in the second cab, I was in front seat. There were two routes back to the Hilton at the airport, a back way, and the freeway through the city. The lead cab exited the parking lot and went right - the back way. Our cab made a left towards the turn that led to the freeway. He passed the turn. I had been there many times so I knew the route. I questioned the driver in my best Spanish where he was going and he just smiled. I told him again to go to the airport Hilton and he ignored me. I turned around and looked at the engineer and he saw the look in my eyes and asked me what was wrong. I told him I thought we were in deep doo and to follow my lead. By this time we were in the dark on a road I had never been on and did not know where we were going.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my Gerber folder reached over and grabbed the back of the driver's head and shoved my knife in his groin. I asked him politely if he hablas Ingles. He said Si. I told him either he turn around and head to the airport Hilton or else I was going to gut him from his groin to his neck. For emphasis I ran the knife from his groin to his chin.

The cab made an immediate 180 turn. I kept the knife to his throat all the way back until about 1/2 mile to the hotel. He grabbed the microphone on the radio and began a long string of expletives and other speech into the airwaves. When we pulled up in front of the hotel the line manager asked me what was wrong. Her cab was still there and she was listening to the radio, She was fluent in Spanish.

We told her what was happening. She told us to go to our rooms and pack while she made a phone call. Later I learned she called the majority owner of the joint venture, a Senor Franco, who was the brother of the deceased dictator of Spain, Francisco Franco. After the phone call we were driven to the airport and put on the next flight out of Mexico. Evidently Senor Franco had made a few calls.

I did go back after a bit and finish my work there but I never again ventured into town. We had escorted transportation to the site and back.

That was my last time ever in Mexico. I will never go back.