Angels in Argentina

As a follow on to the previous post, I have a story that is a perfect example of all the signals. I'm actually embarrassed to tell you this story, in many ways. It isn't a good example of my best thinking, but I learned a lot and after the book, I'm learning still more from it.

Way back in 2000, when I worked for The Man, I traveled a lot. One of my trips took me to Argentina to do some training. I went down with only one co-worker from the States and met a lot of good folks that worked in The Man's Argentinian branch. Determined to get some good sightseeing in, I got tickets to go to a dinner theatre Tango show. I love Tango! Love it!

I had asked my co-worker to join me, but he was uninterested. Since I wasn't going to let that stop me, I went on my own, after dinner. I took the hotel bus directly to the theatre, ate my dinner solo and did my best to not mangle the language. As I mentioned previously, my looks somehow manage to make me fit in almost everywhere I go. In Argentina, they thought I was a local (until I stretched my Spanish too far). In Brazil, they thought I was a local (until I tried to speak - Portuguese is similar to, yet nothing like Spanish). Even in Ireland, they thought I was a local, although at least there the language wasn't what got me into trouble, especially not once I started picking up the accent. Grand!

So I'm alone in a restaurant, enjoying dinner and looking forward to the show. The waiter came by at one point and mentioned that the man at the table behind me would like to buy me a drink. I turned around and waved thank you but can't remember that I accepted it. I wasn't drinking alcohol at that point. After some short time period, he invited me over to my dinner to chat. Being polite, I went. I didn't think much of it, other than being friendly with the natives and it being nice to speak to someone in English in a foreign land. We talked about doing business in Argentina, the show and marital status: I was, happily; he was divorced. Since we were all chummy now, it seemed kind of silly/rude to leave to go to my own designated seat in the theatre, especially when he managed to get us better seats together by slipped the waiter some large denomination of peso.

Can you see all of the signals? Forced teaming, loan sharking. Too many details. Typecasting came into play, I think and definitely refusing to hear "No".

There were "too many details" about his work and his divorce ("She was a cold woman"), but time has wiped most of the night from my mind.

We went in together and sat next to one another. He tried to ply me with drinks, but all I was having were Cokes. He sat too close to me for my own comfort. He kept trying to hold my hand. Not wanting to make a scene in a crowded theatre where I didn't speak the language, I kept taking it back. He even made a comment about how I was only married in America and I shot back, "NO. I'm married EVERYWHERE." He purchased the CD from the show for me and even got the waiter to take our picture together. I'm pretty certain that I threw it out, long ago, but you never know. It might be floating around somewhere, haunting me still.

I was so busy being polite that I was letting him sit far too close and had to listen to him try to sweet talk me back to his hotel! Clearly, trying to ignore the guy wasn't working. I couldn't figure out how to get away from him and yet continue to enjoy the show, so I stayed right where I was and tried to limit how and where he touched me - on the hand or on the knee.

It was awful. I was stupid.

I didn't want to embarrass myself by getting the waiter to move me. I didn't think that I'd be able to express it correctly in Spanish. Telling this guy "No" wasn't working. The end of the show was beginning to look a long, long way away.

Remember that I couldn't just leave - there was a bus that wouldn't be there until the show was over that would take me back to my hotel.

As the show finally wrapped up, I said goodbye quickly and went whipping out of the theatre ahead of the guy. I spotted two Germans that had been on my bus earlier and stood as physically close to them as possible.

Shaking.

The guy pulled around in his car and asked me to get in and that he'd take me back to my hotel. I said no.

I can't remember now, but did he "promise" to take me back to my hotel? Possibly.

He insisted, saying it was cold and I repeated my "No" and stayed right where I was next to the German couple. Finally, he drove off. Alone.

I returned to my room, shaken and furious with myself. What the hell happened to me?! Why did I let that happen?! Why didn't I just get up and walk away? It was as if the whole thing spun out of control little by little and I couldn't understand why it was happening.

Why was I so worried about being polite in a foreign land that I let some stranger paw at me - a married woman! - in a darkened theatre?

I called Eric and I cried all over the phone.

I still love Tango, but I'm not that polite anymore to strange men. I don't smile as much at strangers as I used to.

The best part?

His name was Angel.