The Mexican border is one of the most patrolled and highly secure places in the US. And trying to sneak over it with one hundred pounds of meth is about as stupid as anything I can think of. The only problem is that I don’t have another choice.

I head straight to a hair salon across town. I found it on Yelp with good reviews. The owners are Japanese and they hire mainly Europeans to work there to cater to the expats in the area.

In broken Spanish, I ask for a whole new look and show the hairdresser pictures of celebrities with the kind of style I want.

He asks me a few times if I’m sure that this is what I want before getting started.

My hair is short but not army short.

It’s thick and dark and I’m going with a look that’s the exact opposite, dirty blond and long to match the sun-kissed tan that my skin recently acquired.

The color job along with the extensions takes a few hours. In America, I wouldn’t be able to afford it but here I will still have a lot of my money left even with a tip. In the meantime, I search on my phone for a place I can get colored contacts in the city.

I thought I would need to go to an optician but they sell them right in the open in beauty supply stores.

I haven’t shaved in a few days and I plan to keep that look going. When I look at myself in a drugstore mirror, I look like a completely different person.

Older somehow and a bit of a slob, which is kind of in line with the part that I’ll be playing: an expat living in Mexico.

Still, something feels off.

The hair that’s coming in around my neck and face makes me look disheveled and a bit like a druggie, which is the last thing I want.

I head to a barber shop and show them pictures of freshly trimmed facial hair with an attractive mustache and a well-cared for beard.

They explain the details of the look to me in Spanish, most of which I don’t understand.

At the end, they lay me back in the chair and give me a shave. When they hand me a mirror, I see a completely different person, upscale, put together and relaxed, the perfect look for my gringo persona.

All I need to complete the look is a few Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts. I send Big Dipper a selfie of my new face so that he can get his guy to make me a passport.

I’m glad that it’s going to be a day or so before I cross the border as it will give me some time to fill out my beard.

Big Dipper sends me a hysterical laughing emoji with a thumbs up sign in response.