I'd like to be pimps from Oakland or cowboys from Arizona but it's not Halloween. Grow up Peter Pan, Count Chocula. — John Beckwith
Wednesday, April 4, 2012 (DAYS 31 & 32)
The midpoint of Semana Santa has arrived, and with it, more families occupy the Finca. I am beginning to go crazy with the loud sounds of children screaming, babies crying, temper tantrums and that’s just the staff, don’t even get me started with the guests. I know my fellow coworkers will appreciate that. The days pass quickly and the nights have become more entertaining with the barrage of new faces.
Tonight, I am in for a very interesting awakening as I am introduced to one of the few local guests that speaks very broken English, but being quite proud of his bilingual skills I try to communicate with him–emphasis on the word try. As music plays in the background, my newfound amigo, Cesar, works with the persistence of an Amway salesman as he tries to set me up with his sixteen year-old niece, Nicole. Yes, sixteen fricken years-old yo! How old do people in Guatemala think I am? Completely dumbfounded by this gesture and not wanting to be rude I politely decline. This does nothing. Calling her over to sit next to me several times, Nicole obediently takes a seat across from me smiling and doesn’t speak a word of English. Attempting to play matchmaker and communicator, Cesar brings the uncomfortable awkwardness level to match that of being caught with your pants down pooping along the side of a dirt road as a school bus full of children pull up and you are left with nothing but your shame. To be clear, this truthful analogy is not about me, but for close friends and the person I am referring to it is one of the best stories of all-time, and we thank you for it. (breaking for much laughter). Cesar’s reluctance continues all night long until I finally resign for the evening, feeling as though I need a hot shower after such an ordeal even though I was the innocent victim. Maybe they will make a Lifetime movie of the week about my horrendous ordeal…I have yet to begin cashing in on my television connections.
The midpoint of Semana Santa has arrived, and with it, more families occupy the Finca. I am beginning to go crazy with the loud sounds of children screaming, babies crying, temper tantrums and that’s just the staff, don’t even get me started with the guests. I know my fellow coworkers will appreciate that. The days pass quickly and the nights have become more entertaining with the barrage of new faces.
Tonight, I am in for a very interesting awakening as I am introduced to one of the few local guests that speaks very broken English, but being quite proud of his bilingual skills I try to communicate with him–emphasis on the word try. As music plays in the background, my newfound amigo, Cesar, works with the persistence of an Amway salesman as he tries to set me up with his sixteen year-old niece, Nicole. Yes, sixteen fricken years-old yo! How old do people in Guatemala think I am? Completely dumbfounded by this gesture and not wanting to be rude I politely decline. This does nothing. Calling her over to sit next to me several times, Nicole obediently takes a seat across from me smiling and doesn’t speak a word of English. Attempting to play matchmaker and communicator, Cesar brings the uncomfortable awkwardness level to match that of being caught with your pants down pooping along the side of a dirt road as a school bus full of children pull up and you are left with nothing but your shame. To be clear, this truthful analogy is not about me, but for close friends and the person I am referring to it is one of the best stories of all-time, and we thank you for it. (breaking for much laughter). Cesar’s reluctance continues all night long until I finally resign for the evening, feeling as though I need a hot shower after such an ordeal even though I was the innocent victim. Maybe they will make a Lifetime movie of the week about my horrendous ordeal…I have yet to begin cashing in on my television connections.
Ready to wash the bad taste out of my mouth of underage jailbait and creeper uncles I stay to the outskirts of the crowded room for the next night. Enjoying conversation with coworkers as we relax after another busy day, I am once again approached, but this time it is by a woman, that is probably fifty. I can’t win. I soon realize that she isn’t trying to seduce me for herself but for her daughter. I’m beginning to wonder if the staff has been telling the guests that my alter ego is Deuce Bigalow. This girl appears to be older than the girl from the previous night and is very beautiful but unsure of what is happening I continue to decline. Aldo, leans over to tell me that she is the former beauty queen of the town, Miss Peten, not realizing that I am in the midst of a local celebrity I think to myself, it all makes sense now, her bedazzled jeans and smurf colored button up shirt that is rolled over the front exposing her middrift is the most fashionable chica in the joint and this whole time I just thought I had hit 88mph in my DeLorean and was back in 1985. Silly rabbit, no, you’re in Guatemala, where past decades never go extinct. This reminds me of when I was in college and went to visit Jesse during Spring Break in Daytona Beach where we ended up in Orlando at Disneyworld’s Pleasure Island. Not what you are all thinking, so get your minds out of the gutters. There is a series of nightclubs that line this area of the park and each one consists of a different decade trapped in time, and now, I have found an authentic version to this make-believe place where the styles are alive and well my friend. Oh how I love Central America already!
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