Perhaps she was of the privileged cloth…
Yes, no doubt about that.
5th year living in South America (Santiago → Buenos Aires).
Originally from Rochester, NY.
30 something years old.
Reluctantly teaches English these days to Argies while simultaneously working on building her inherited, and seemingly uninteresting, Santiago Tourist website. Lawyer turned sour, occasional English teacher.
She interviewed me to write for her adopted project. But something
More about her:
Doesn’t believe in free education simply because she and her parents had to pay for her education.
“I had to pay a LOT for the brain I have today.” -She says after speaking about the all too common and mostly inconvenient Thursday student protests in Santiago, which taught her how to lock herself inside to avoid the pile-up along her street.
“They [Chilean and Argentine students] get lazy” she comments as I use my spidey powers to get her sugar injected coffee to burn her tongue and fill her mouth with pompous cavities.
“They should be in class, not protesting.”
The freight train of swears and curses crash and tumble out of my ears and play in the background, drowning her out, as she continues to disgust me.
But she’s unhappy, or confused. I can smell it.
So I keep a pleasant smile on my face and nod and squeeze my eyes into focus to make her as small as I can. She babbled on luxuriously and hadn’t asked me a thing about my background for the position 35 minutes into the interview.
I wanted to call her a Blind Bird. A Bird-brained Chatty Cathy. An unjust neo-hippie pretender…
Traveling the world in a box.
But I didn’t. Instead, I listened to her intolerance as she considered me a possible contributor for her advertised-as-a-paid-writing-gig-but-was-in-fact-a-passion-project project.
At this point, and especially when I discovered she couldn’t pay me with that smart and expensive brain of hers, I tuned out. To avoid a battle royal between two American girls warring with their tongues on South American territory, I simply sipped my perfectly bitter black coffee, closed my ears with my sort of expensive, but more humble brain, imagined my coffee was spiked with whiskey, and got pretend-drunk while she pretended to be human.