uan had one plan when he crossed the border: Find tacos. Then maybe a job.
What he didn't plan for was a freak snowstorm in Texas.
Wrapped in his trusty poncho, sandals squishing in fresh powder, and his sombrero collecting more snow than dignity, Juan stared at the cold wall of the border fence behind him.
"¡Dios mío!" he shivered. "I thought 'ICE' was a government agency, not a weather forecast!"
He shuffled forward, each step crunching like a broken tortilla chip. His big mustache drooped under the weight of snowflakes. Somewhere in the distance, he swore he heard a mariachi band playing "Let It Go."
As the storm intensified, Juan started hallucinating.
A snowman popped up next to him and said in a chipper voice, "You wanna build a border wall?"
"No!" Juan barked. "I want a blanket, some hot chocolate, and a climate that respects my wardrobe!"
Then, in the haze of flurries, he spotted a glowing light in the distance. Was it a border patrol truck? A taco stand? An angel?
No. It was a Walmart.
With the last ounce of energy, Juan burst through the automatic doors like a dramatic telenovela character.
Everyone inside paused and stared. A soaking-wet man in a poncho and flip-flops, covered in snow, stomping across the tile like he was conquering the North Pole.
"Where's the heater aisle?" he demanded. "And do you sell hot salsa that also functions as a hand warmer?"
A kind woman handed him a fuzzy blanket and a burrito.
Juan wept.
Moral of the story: If you're going to cross borders, check the weather app. And always pack sock