20 January, 2010

The Price of Silence (is about seventy-five bucks)

It was three in the morning when we stopped in a Chinese-run convenience store with pay phones. Jesus plopped into the chair, grabbed the phone, and told the person on the other line Wilson was a thief. The Chinese cashiers stared at us. William assured them he had no weapons by lifting his shirt and showing off his hips. He continued buzzing to me about Wilson (shirt still to his chest) – Wilson switched the bill; he was in cahoots with the bartender; why did he disappear?

Two hours earlier, we all stood on the third floor platform of the dim, neon-lit dance club, located in the locals' area 'Once'. A mammoth of a boy bobbed back and forth in front of us, eyes wide, enjoying his own story about knocking someone out. He grinned, several teeth were missing from his square jaw, “Security” was written on his t-shirt. This burly bouncer originally approached the four of us because he thought the boys' cigarettes might be weed. Satisfied they were destroying their bodies legally, he stayed and exchanged tales of violence with the guys and living the tough life. I wanted to contribute, but my only violent tale is when I hit my friend in elementary school and his eyelashes got caught in his glasses. I was immediately sorry. I didn't share, though; as I guest, I didn't want to out-man them.

We had arrived early at the club, around 1AM. The bouncers at the front frisked us and one of them took my pen. It was like a prisoners ball. Inside, shy teenagers lined the sides of the empty dance floor, waiting for the crowds to arrive. I realized I paid for the first round of drinks when little change returned from a big bill. How fortunate, I've been meaning to be more unintentionally generous. We watched as the bartender poured more than six different liquors into a neon-green bucket, large enough to have a warning for drowning infants. The bartender popped in four straws. In addition, she handed us two Slurpee-sized cups of a dark liquid. I could have paid her to stab my liver instead.

As more people arrived, more cigarettes singed away, the smoke clouded against the ceiling. No matter where you are in the world, teenagers everywhere think it's cool to smoke. When older, it's cool to tell everyone you're quitting. I may start, purely to quit.

The bucket of liquor got lighter and the other two cups were poured in. Some people don't like mixing their drinks, but it's really like throwing all your trash in one bag. Someone's going to take it out eventually... I'm not sure what my metaphor means, but it seems suitable. Go with it.

Flash forward, Quentin Tarantino style! Outside, Jesus, William, and I wandered to a street corner and a red hatchback slowed to the curb. Jesus and William tried to open the door and the car sped off. That was a very lazy way to hijack a car. Calmly, they walked to the other side of the corner and another red car pulled up. This time they opened the door and hopped in. When in Argentina...

Flash, again! Wilson stepped to the cashier to make the order. He and I were downstairs getting a refill on the bucket. I glanced at the dance floor. For the second time, I met eyes with a cute girl dancing in a circle of friends. Wilson turned and asked me for some money, I handed him a large bill, the only one I had. The bartender examined the bill; he flicked it, turned it over, held it under the light, and handed it back. “No sirve nada” - It's no good.
Wilson asked me for another bill. I told him that was my last one. Wilson handed the cashier the bill again and tried to negotiate. The cashier wrote on a little slip of paper. We slid over; the bartender looked at the paper, and gave us nothing. I guess the paper said, “Hey Bernice, why haven't you returned my calls? Oh, and I totally jacked these kids' money, BOO-Yah!.. but really, call me back.” I'd been bamboozled. Maybe the bill truly was fake. Maybe they didn't read the paper right. Maybe I should ask that girl to dance... We split up to find Jesus and explain what happened.

Jesus ran into me and I tried to explain the story. His red eyes showed thin signs of understanding. I finished and he stormed the cashier. The cashier handed Jesus the bill and let him look at it. Jesus flipped it around and handed it back. “Wait!,” I said in my head. “At least let me have the damn bill!” Jesus wandered off to the front. Sometimes, in a foreign country, I assume people know what they're doing. This shouldn't have been one of those times. Tonight it cost me $75 to learn to speak up.

Early that evening, after dinner, Pat, Bob, Veronica, William, Wilson, Jesus, and I gathered for a glass of champagne. It was Jesus' birthday. I hadn't planned on going out, but two hours later, we sat with four wine bottles, two bottles of champagne, three liters of beer, and a liter of cider, all empty. The boys decided to go out, and invited me along. I figured, an adventure is always awaiting...

Getting ready, Jesus suggested I wear different shoes. Nike's were better than my low-cut running shoes. I put on jeans and a green striped polo shirt; they said I looked good, I fit in. They laughed, but these were the clothes of thieves. I had to ask them to repeat that; we looked like college kids on the way to a prep rally. Thieves? They explained that kids who wear these clothes, in the part of town we're going to, are considered thieves, because, “How else could they afford these clothes?”

Well, for one, they could work as bartenders.

1 comment:

  1. I am so enthused to read these wonderful stories. However, I ponder as to where the stories go. Did Jesus (I can't do the little "e" thing so he's gonna be Jesus in my head) get an apartment? Did you get screwed out of your money for good? These loose ends are destroying my soul. I have to live vicariously through you, as the only world traveling I get to do at this point is Afghanistan. Awesome. Glad to hear the trip is going fantastic. By the way, June 25, 2011. That's the wedding. Lock that up in your memory. You must be stateside, in Clinton, NJ on that particular date. So now, travel onward my friend. Continue to entertain me and the scores of other faithful followers you have garnered in your extravagant life. The whole Hallock family wishes you luck and a joyous existence in all of your foreign affairs. And we mean sexual affairs. Dirty stuff. With foreign women. And whatever animals are indigenous to your current location. One love man. Keep it real gangster.

    ReplyDelete