Campeche or in the bowels of the Mexican financial system

We were looking forward to the harbor town of Campeche in the Gulf of Mexico. The small hotel in the center and a wonderful breakfast made the days there perfect. At least that's what we thought until we returned to our car. Mom's sharp eye didn't miss anything, so she immediately noticed the missing license plate. In addition, a pink ticket waved at us from the windshield. So we went back to the hotel and had the ticket translated. Apparently, we were parked in a no-parking zone and had to pay a fine. This could only be done at the financial center of the city. So we stormed to the first available counter with good hope and wanted to settle our debt. But we were mistaken. Of the 7 counters there, only 3 were allowed to handle our case. The remaining five were not allowed to handle more than ten cases in the next 2 hours. But they remained stubborn and we had to get in line. Although "getting in line" is actually the wrong phrase. The line consisted of four rows of chairs. In Europe, everyone would have received a number and would have been called in order.

Here, we slid from one lukewarm, sweaty chair to the next for the next 2 hours until we finally reached the front. Once there, we were able to pay our fine, but the license plate was on the other side of the city. But we managed to get it too, and after 3 hours and 5 euros less, we were able to continue our journey.