The Snake in the Bathroom

 Embarrassing, Funny  No Responses »
Sep 162012
 

It was a present from the cousins who always took pride in bringing the most unusual gifts. A black snake, fierce and threatening with ruby red shiny eyes, the kind of nasty predator that’s jumps on you for no reason… except this specimen is a plastic toy. After a bunch of good laughs the Chinese-born reptile ended up in the bathroom. There it lay quietly for almost twenty years…

***

In spite of all its charms the house has been listed on the market for several months, victim of the real estate bust. Today the family is going out to see the end-of-year school play. The phone rings as they stepped out the door: their agent Lisa wants to bring some clients for a last-minute showing. “Great!” says Steve. “For once we won’t have to hide in the garage*.”

Lisa is a perfectionist: she shows up at the house well before the appointment to inspect the place and tidy it up. She straightens the bed linen, puffs up the pillows and opens all the curtains to let more sunshine in. She opens the bathroom door, sees the snake, lets out a scream worthy of a horror movie actress, and slams the door shut. She calls Steve but of course both parents turned the cell phones off during their kids’ play. Crap! She calls her husband: he’ll know what to do. Ten minutes later John comes in, armed with a shovel. He opens the bathroom door delicately, takes one cautious look… and closes the door gently, not wanting to disturb the wild animal. He turns back to his wife, pensive, holding the shovel with one hand and scratching his chin with the other:
- “It’s right next to the toilet. If I hit it I might damage something. Is that OK?”
- “Of course it’s not OK!” she snaps furiously. “How am I going to sell this goddam place if you smash the toilet seat with your stupid shovel?”
Lisa calls the animal control services and stays on hold for fifteen minutes before hanging up. The buyers are to arrive in the next twenty minutes. She paces the kitchen like a caged animal. “Think! Who could get rid of this fucking snake?” Her eyes stop on a post-it note stuck on the fridge: the cleaning lady’s contact details. She may have dealt with a situation like this before… it’s worth a shot.
- “Hello, my name is Lisa. I’m Steve’s real estate agent. I’m at their house and there’s a snake in the bathroom. Can you come over right now and get rid of it?”
- “…”
- “Don’t you understand? It’s an emergency!”
- “Wait a minute. You said the snake was in the bathroom… does it happen to be next to the toilet by any chance?”
- “Yes. At least that’s where it was when I looked a few minutes ago.”
- “I don’t think it’s gonna move much. It’s a plastic toy.”
The girl laughs her heart out but Lisa already hung up.

After the play Steve checks his cell phone; there’s a message from Lisa. He crosses his fingers and prays: hopefully he’ll get an offer this time. “Steve, this is Lisa. I just wanted to ask you how anyone could be STUPID enough to have a fake snake in their bathroom, especially when they are trying to sell the house.” He puts his cell phone back in his pocket and wonders how anyone could be stupid enough to believe it was a real snake.

 

Cedric, 9/16/12
PS: Thank you Steve for sharing your story that inspired me to write this text.

*Note for non-Americans: it is common practice in the US for homeowners to leave their house while potential buyers visit it – so they can imagine themselves living in the place instead of considering it as someone else’s home.

They

 Embarrassing, People, Words of wisdom  No Responses »
Apr 232012
 

One night I was at a dinner party. The conversation was lively and far-ranging. It was broadly social and political. But as I listened I noticed a tendency to talk about how they don’t run the government responsibly, how they don’t build quality products, how they never report the news accurately.
The basic message was that they were ruining the world, and there was nothing we could do about it.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Who is this they that you keep talking about?”
I got a lot of confused looks. Everyone else at the table knew who they were.
“Look,” I said, “I don’t think anything is served by imagining a world of faceless villains. There isn’t any a they. There’re only people like us.” […]
The table got silent.
“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I think I’m pretty smart, and I don’t always run my own life so well. I make mistakes and screw up. I do things I regret. I say things I wish I hadn’t said. A lot of people you see interviewed on TV have impossible jobs. It’s only a question of how badly they’ll do them. But I don’t see any grand conspiracy out there. People are doing the best they can.”
The table stayed silent.
“And what’s really wrong with making them the problem,” I said, “is that you abdicate your own responsibility. Once you say some mysterious they are in charge, then you’re able to sit back comfortably and complain about how they are doing it. But maybe they need help. Maybe they need your ideas and your support and your letters, and your active participation. Because you’re not powerless, you are a participant in this world. It’s your world, too.”
So there I was, preaching at the dinner table. I got embarrassed and shut up.

Michael Crichton, “Travels” (1988)

The Best Coffee

 Embarrassing, Identity, Latin America, Travel, Words of wisdom  No Responses »
Feb 192012
 

“Where do you find the best coffee in Central America?” The loud and obnoxious tourist from New York interrogates me over dinner. I hate the question. A journey is a collection of experiences, some more pleasant than others but never better: they are what they are. I learned more about myself overcoming challenges than sipping cocktails in front of a picture-perfect sunset. But the girl is not interested in that. She just wants to know where to find “the best coffee”. I doubt she really values my opinion, so why should I give it to her? But her high-pitched and inquisitive voice has silenced the entire dinner party: all eyes are now turned towards me. I need to say something quickly. A laconic answer comes out of my mouth, bypassing my mind: “El Salvador”. Pretending to care, she replies: “Oh, really?” Then she continues to talk about herself. Blah blah blah. The words start to blur. I tune out.

In actual fact my favorite cup of Joe is not from El Salvador: I love the taste of Nescafé instant coffee. Almost every morning I prepare myself a small cup. With the right amount of powder and sugar, the dark mixture tastes better to me than any freshly ground Arabica or Robusta. Maybe this goes back to my late teenage years when I would savor a large bowl to help me wake up each day before going to school. Anyway, Miss Egocentric cannot understand. She lives in a world where the best things in life are objectively known and scientifically labeled. The best books are listed in the New York Times, the best hotels in the Lonely Planet and the best movies are the ones who received praise from the critics.

Screw this!

In my world Nescafé instant is the best coffee. In my world the best books are the ones that touch my heart, not the ones that use fancy words and collect literary prizes. In my world the best hotels are the ones that no guidebook tells you about: you just find them – or maybe they find you.

We are each masters of our own world, free to decide what we like and what we don’t, what matters and what doesn’t. As long as we remain true to ourselves no one can take that away from us. It is our secret, our treasure.

 

Cedric, 02/19/2012

Oil and Water

 Embarrassing, Funny, Latin America, Travel  No Responses »
Feb 092012
 


“Did someone tell you about the water?” asked the teenager at the hotel front desk last night. I shook my head with a blank look on my face. He explained there would be no running water from this morning at 8am until tomorrow 7am. I shrugged at the news: it’s only for one day, no biggie. We’ve been drinking bottled water anyway – a precaution to reduce exposure to local bacteria.

It’s 5pm and I’ve been soaking in my own juice all day. Ambient temperature: 85 degrees. Humidity: 75%. I can smell my own body odor, and it’s not a pleasant experience. Doing my martial arts conditioning was probably a tad foolish in such circumstances but I’ve been sports-deprived for the last few days: the craving for a workout defeated the fear of armpit scent. Now there is no escape: I must shower not only for myself but also for anyone within a 10-foot radius, which can quickly become a crowd in a dense city like Cartagena.

I ask the staff for a bucket of water. They stocked-up on the precious liquid in big barrels so they can provide for any essential guest needs such as filling-up the toilet tank or making ablutions. Five minutes later I stand in the shower with my feet in a bucket full of water. How exactly am I supposed to do this? I decide to use an empty bottle to pour the water over my head. It should work fine.

These past few days I’ve been shampooing with soap: I was dumb enough to pack the shampoo in a suitcase that is now inside the car, within a sealed container about to board on a cargo ship. Fortunately yesterday I bought a bottle of shampoo at the corner store. Baby shampoo: the only thing that didn’t seem too chemical. After wetting my hair using the empty bottle and the bucket, I squeeze some shampoo. The liquid is sticky and it doesn’t foam at all. I pour some more. Now my scalp feels greasy. What kind of shampoo is this? Assailed by doubt, I re-read the label carefully: baby oil!

A few minutes and three bars of soap later, the oil has almost disappeared and I am almost clean. I catch my reflection in the mirror: my hair has the same gloss as the stars in old black and white movies. I wonder if they used baby oil as well.

 

Cedric, 02/09/2012

The Curse of the Bikini

 Embarrassing, Funny, Latin America, People, Travel  No Responses »
Dec 302011
 

My wife looks at me with guns blazing in her eyes and pretends to say casually: “You forgot to tell me that your Spanish teacher was a hottie.” Uh-Oh. This sounds like the kind of conversation that can only go bad or worse, depending on what my answer is. Think! Fast! It never occurred to me that she was a “hottie” but now that I see her walking away on the beach in her bikini, I realize I am in trouble. If I deny the fact I will sound like a liar. On the other hand, acknowledging that my teacher is sexy doesn’t seem like a good way to end the discussion. The beach suddenly turns into quicksand under my feet. What can I say? Caught completely off-guard, unable to come up with anything more convincing, I reply: “She is just my Spanish teacher. And she is married with a surfer hunk.” Within half a second the lethal weapon reloads and fires again: “Well, so am I.” Strangely this doesn’t feel like a compliment. I’d give anything to change the topic. Fortunately the sun starts to set in the Pacific Ocean, thus providing the ideal diversion.

Had I been a bit sharper I would have said: “Usually she does not show up dressed in a bikini when she teaches Spanish.”

 

Cedric, 12/30/2011

I, the Alcoholic

 Embarrassing, Funny  No Responses »
Nov 032011
 

Hello, my name is Cedric and I’m an alcoholic. Well, not really… actually not at all. But for some reason my mother-in-law believes I am one, and nothing I can say or do will ever convince her otherwise. When she visits us there are two possible scenarios: either the wine rack contains some bottles and she says “Oh my God! You are going to drink all this!” or the rack is empty and she says “Oh my God! You drank it all!” Either way, the conclusion is the same: I must be an alcoholic. No matter that I’ve never been very interested in wine, and that I seldom drink more than one glass at a time. Mai’s wine consumption is in fact larger than mine despite her lighter weight and her Asian genes, but no one ever believes it.

The ultimate irony is that my accuser, Mai’s mom, prepares homemade rice wine with enough alcohol content to disinfect any flesh wound. Last time she gave us a bottle (we attempted to refuse but she wouldn’t take “no” for an answer) we decided it would be best kept in the medicine cabinet. The Vietnamese moonshine stayed there until I found a better use for it: mixed with gas in a car’s tank it boosts the engine performance, a bit like nitroglycerine.

The family is gathered for Thanksgiving. On the table: a huge stuffed turkey and a bottle of wine, which I am asked to uncork since I am considered the expert in such matters. Mai asks: “Mom, do you think Cedric is an alcoholic?” She replies with a loving smile: “Yes, but he can’t help it: he’s French!”

 

Cedric, 11/02/2011

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