american meatheads

I spend quite a bit of time in internet cafés (known as locotorios) here, catching up on emails and blogging and skyping and doing similar internet-related activities. Things usually run pretty smoothly, with the occasional hiccup of a lost connection, a crappy headset or a keyboard that you have to slam away on to get the keys to work. Most days I take these little issues in stride, but every once and a while I get fed up.

Today was one of those days - Andy and I had a date on Skype (oh so romantic), and I was sitting at my favorite locotorio (still am, actually), looking forward to chatting ¨face-to-face.¨ Andy signed in, and although we could see each other and he could hear me, I couldn´t hear him. This has happened to us before... and as much as I´d love to blame South American computers for this problem, we´ve discovered that it´s actually his faithful Mac that´s messing things up. Well, I didn´t care which country´s fault it was, today was not a day I felt like tolerating yet another annoyance on the long list of annoyances. So I started swearing under my breath (just a little), and called the computer a few choice names. (Not something I´m necessarily proud of, but it helps calm me down when I´m really frustrated.)

A few minutes went by, and Andy and I were still trying to trouble-shoot, and all of a sudden I look up and there´s a guy standing next to me, asking me something. I took off my headset to hear what he was saying. ¨Did you just call my girlfriend a whore?!¨ I almost laughed, a full out Guffaw!. With a smile on my face I explained that no, in fact, I did not call his girlfriend a whore; I was talking to the computer. He didn´t buy it, and spewed off something about me not having the balls to say it to his face. He was visibly shaking with rage. I repeated my defense, and he gave me Death Eyes. Then, thankfully, his (apparently whorish) girlfriend tugged on his arm, mumbling something along the lines of ¨Let´s just go¨ and dragged him out the door. He glared at me the entire way out. And I thought I needed to practice anger management. Yikes.

I suppose the moral of the story is that I should swear less in public? Or never assume that the people around me in locotorios don´t speak English? Or maybe there is no moral, and a Head-Busting American Meathead will be waiting for me as I walk out the door in five minutes to teach me my lesson.