Saturday, September 6, 2008

The one in which I try to die, parte dos

I'm apparently not so good at taking the 60 bus out to the suburbs. There's about 80 different variations, the driver will tell you "si" when you ask him if he's going to your destination, and have I mentioned that I don't speak Spanish? I don't speak Spanish.

Let's try diary form:

All is fine and well on my journey so far, I have managed to start a conversation with Super Hot Girl. She is the stereotype (to me anyway) of your basic beautiful Argentine girl. Basically perfection is what I'm saying*. but she's 19. Have I mentioned how I only meet young girls here? It's totally acceptable, ftw. She speaks perfect English, she tells me she wants to get out of Argentina (I'm liking where this conversation is going), and then the bus turns off the road I want to be on. No problem, she assures me, we'll go back to the road I want to be on. I ask her a few questions about this, and she says we will go back to my road. Assured in my knowledge that I will recognize such road, I go back to talking to her. And by talking to her, I mean trying not to stare.

SHG and I are in the midst of a scintillating conversation -- while I think when should I get her number? -- when she says, "you need to get out here." "Here?" "HERE! Go 5 blocks that way, and maybe 3 that way. Suerte!" I am confused, I don't want to leave, I'm trying to figure out if I have time to write my number on a piece of paper, and the bus stops. I get off, she tries to open her window to say something to me and her window won't open.

Well, thank you SHG for the fact that I didn't get lost, but I really was quite okay getting lost with you. Should've stayed on the bus. My game is way too rusty. I lose. Evan approximately 6 years ago would be so ashamed of me.

I start wandering through town. I don't recognize anything. I don't think it's a bad part of town, but honestly I am pretty bad at discerning these things. It certainly wasn't Vicente Lopez or Olivos (posh northern suburbs) so I end up running (safer than walking) for 15 minutes...30 mins...45 mins. This running thing is starting to get tiring. Finally, I see an old man come out of a house. I ask for directions. Like a good Argentine, he refuses to just tell me where to go, he wants to tell me many many things which I will smile politely and nod at while thinking "are you going to tell me where to go yet?" I jest, because really I was far away (a mile? a mile and a half?) from the stadium at this point, so I was in pretty bad shape. He was very nice to me at zero gain to himself. More running and a few more wrong turns, and I make it. I play some soccer (poorly, it's rather embarassing), tweak a muscle, and then spend time pitying myself for how I was once a good athlete.

Cliff's notes: I didn't get girl's number. I suck at life.

* Diego says to me, "Evan, everytime I talk to you, you are talking about a different girl." Life in Argentina, che.

1 comment:

Jenn said...

Evan, you are awesome.