The next morning at 10:00 AM sharp, we approached the U.S. Embassy. It was rather intimidating. Ringing the bell, I felt like a little kid eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the back porch of the White House.

We were ushered in and briefly explained our situation to the first person who'd listen. We were told to wait. A few minutes later a door opened and we were introduced to an assistant to the Ambassador. He invited us in to an office that looked just like I'd seen in the movie "MISSING".

Nervously, I explained our situation. He listened carefully and then proceeded to say what I'd also heard in the movies.

"All I can do is fill out forms to be mailed to the Mexican government requesting that they let you out of the country."

"Requesting!" My voice rose two octaves higher than normal.

"I'm sorry. It's their country. It's all I can do."

I thanked him and left feeling Spanish was no longer going to be my second language.

That night as the show was on I sat in my hotel room wondering how all this had happened and promised myself that it would never happen again. Tossing and turning in my bed, I got an idea, a weird one, but a glimpse of hope nonetheless.

We could fly from Mexico City to Tijuana, take a cab to the border and walk across to the States using our driver's licenses as ID's. Sure, it was drastic, but these had become drastic times.

The phone rang. It was the Producer's Assistant. In a cool tone of voice he let us know how ungrateful we were. He went on to say that the Producer would rather not have ‘trouble makers' in his hotel. I held my pride in check.