The first scary experience

First of all, I have to preface this post by saying, what happened wasn't even that bad. As a matter of fact, much scarier, sketchier things happen to me on a regular basis in Albuquerque. The thing is, I know how to deal with them better in Albuquerque.

So here's what happened. I'm sitting in the coffee shop, where I am now. Checking emails and writing my lesson plans for the day. The coffee shop is about a quarter full, and so there are empty tables scattered around the room. Two guys come in. I didn't really see them, or pay them much mind. But at first they were sitting across the room from me. After taking notice of my computer, they moved to the table diagonally behind from me. I could over hear them talking under their breath, I could vaguely overhear them planning something. One of them came up and started to talk to me. What struck me as strange, was how he moved to the opposite side of me from where he was sitting - trying to distract my attention away from where his friend was sitting. It is very strange to get one of these feelings in a foreign place - the type of feeling where you know something is wrong, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

Noticing this gentleman's suspicious appearance and mannerisms, I kind of had some understanding of what was going on. They were about my age and they were dressed in clothing that looked to expensive for their bodies. How can I explain this.... Ok, so they had tattoos on their hands and one guy had them on his neck. Their hair cuts looked prison regulation. On a side note, hairdressers in Chile are particularly bad. I will perhaps dedicate an entire blog to this topic in the future. But back to the topic at hand. So both of these guys had on pristinely white sneakers. This struck my as out of the ordinary as well. People in Chile generally do not pay much attention to the cleanliness or quality of their shoes. Especially the younger people. who's shoes generally look like they would be found on a homeless person. It is not because these people are poor, shoes just aren't a priority. This, the fact that they were both wearing such clean shoes, struck me as odd above all else. I cannot explain why.

But the guy began to talk to me. over my shoulder I noticed the other guy starting to move. My hand casually found my steak knife. I gripped it in a rather aggressive way - the tightness of my hand making my knuckles white. I said in Spanish, " I know what you are trying to do. Don't talk to me."The guy made a defensive gesture, and returned to his seat. They began to whisper again. Not wanting to sit with my back to the two, I moved to the corner behind them. My back to the wall, the two in plain sight, I felt much safer.

Almost immediately after I moved, a waitress came up to me and whispered, "Cuidate." In English, this meant 'be careful.' She continued to explain. These guys are "Flaites," a Chilean term which means, for lack of a better word, 'Ghetto.' But it also holds the connotation of being very sketchy as well. She said that they were talking about stealing my computer. I told her that I knew what they were saying, which is the reason that I moved. She gave me the thumbs up, and a squeeze on the shoulder - Chilean women are very motherly. She repeated, "Cuidate."

Almost a minute after that happened, another waiter, who I sometimes talk about soccer with, came up to me. He told me basically the same thing. He also asked if I wanted him to walk me home. I told him it would be OK. The Flaite looked over his friends shoulder at me, only to find that I was staring directly at him. He said something to his friend and then they left. I waited around for about ten minutes before leaving, also.

When I got out on the street, I was cautious. In fact, I looked both ways out the glass window even before leaving. I walked down the street, checking over my shoulder. I caught a glimpse of one of the guys over my shoulder. He was walking behind me, pretending not to be looking at me. I walked a little further, then looped around the block to make sure he was following me. Yep, he was. So, I stopped in my tracks, and turned around. I looked strait at him, and began to walk towards him very aggressively. I did not have a clue what I would do when I got to him. It was a purely primal act - one monkey puffing out his chest and making crazy eye contact with the other. In my pocket, I fumbled the cap off of my pen and pressed my thumb down on the ball point pen to test its sharpness. Yep, pretty sharp. If worse comes to worst, I thought, I'll stab him in the jugular.

Instead the guy turned and ran away in the other direction. Phhwewww. Situation averted. Later, I told this story to my students. They said that this was a typical situation. However, they were very clear that these people do not want to create a public conflict. They only want to wait till you take your eyes off of your backpack, and snatch it. I guess, all in all, it wasn't that scary. It was just a couple guys thinking they might snatch a free computer at the detriment of a inattentive tourist. The scary thing was that, if the situation were dangerous, I would not know what to do. At home, all I would have to do is call one phone number and say I was in trouble, and a Cavalry of friends would show up to help me out. Here, I don't have a Cavalry. Hell, I don't even know the number for the police. I should probably look that up.

The good thing is, I haven't had a single conflict here. I think my limited language skills also really limit my potential to be an asshole. I mean, I wouldn't even know how to say something rude to someone if I wanted to. Also, people are more relaxed culturally You can be at a bar, and a guy will bump you with his shoulder and spill your beer on your shoes. In the U.S, them's reasons for a fight. Here, it doesn't even merit an apology. Probably because people don't care about their shoes.

Salud,

Sam