Out of gas
- hm
- Jun 27
- 2 min read
There I was, driving the 120km stretch from Cancun to Tulum, aggressively flirting with an empty fuel gauge. Seeing an Oxxo, I pulled over for water and thanked the road-trip gods for the gas station next door.
I filled up: 985 pesos.
With the confidence of a modern traveler, I whipped out my iPhone to tap-to-pay. Beep. Declined. As it turns out, their terminal hated digital international cards. No physical plastic? No gas.
Suddenly, I went from valued customer to prime suspect. Since the gas station had no other customers, they treated my rental car like a crime scene. "Lock the car," the attendant ordered. "Do not move it until you pay." I was officially grounded.
Thus began my forced financial march across the plaza:
Stop 1 (The Oxxo): Tried a digital cash advance. Denied.
Stop 2 (The Pharmacy): Tried to get cash from the pharmacist. Denied.
Stop 3 (The Tech Huddle): We stared at my phone trying Mexican QR codes and my Bank of America app. Nothing worked.
Then, the attendant's inner entrepreneur kicked in. He eyed the Oxxo window. "Why don’t you just buy me some liquor?" He pointed out a 1,100-peso whiskey on sale for 700 pesos that did somehow clear on my digital card inside the store.
That triggered a lightbulb, and I decided to reward his indulgence. I went to my captive car and retrieved a secret weapon from the backseat: a pristine, unopened bottle of tequila worth 400 pesos that I had originally planned to donate, as I was leaving the country the following morning.
I handed him the 700-peso whiskey, threw in the 400-peso bottle of tequila, and topped it off with the last 200 physical pesos I had, that I dug out of my pocket.
It was a massive overpayment for a 985-peso gas bill, but the currency was highly alcoholic and the hostage situation was officially over.
The attendant’s face lit up like Christmas. He got a top-shelf instant bar collection, I got a full tank, and I drove off to Tulum with a new golden rule of travel: Always bring backup plastic, or prepare to barter like a 17th-century pirate.



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