The other day I had to go to the Immigration office here in Buenos Aires to pick up some papers I had to renew. I was told to be there at 6:00 AM, which meant waking up at 4:30. For some reason, whenever I have to get up early, I get really nervous and can’t really go to bed at an appropriate time, so I ended up wasting time online until about 1:30 AM, so I only slept for three hours. Add to this the fact that I was already sleep-deprived because I’ve been extremely busy with work and school… well, it was difficult to get me out of bed. But I managed to do it, and ended up arriving there at 5:30 AM, feeling extremely proud of myself.
Except, turns out the place opens at 7:30 AM.
At this point I’m like, “well, fuck it, I’ll just wait outside” and I put on my headphones (yeah, I know) and stand on the street outside the door with 5 very scruffy-looking Peruvian gentlemen. It’s still dark out and really chilly, and after a while it starts to rain. I’m there for two hours listening to this terrible fucking Kevin Smith podcast about him eating his wife’s ass and the line is getting longer and it’s raining and all these hostile-looking Bolivians and Peruvians are looking at me funny ’cause I’m this fair-skinned giant who’s dressed nice and wearing headphones and is constantly nodding off and–
After two hours of waiting out in the cold and the rain, the place opens up and the girl at the counter is this GORGEOUS chick whose arms are completely covered in tattoos. I’m not much of a fan of tattoos but that girl was extremely hot and the look just worked for her. At this point I’m barely awake. I’m in this otherworldly kind of plane of existence where things don’t really make a lot of sense but there’s still a cognizant part of me that’s kind of steering the wheel, so to speak. I walk up to the counter, sleepily say hello and give her my ID so she can find my stuff. While she’s printing something out, I’m groggily trying to turn on the Jorge charm (if I ever had any) but it’s just not coming on. But I feel this enormous pressure to say something and I think at this point she’s realized I’m staring at her and so I go “… I like your tattoos”.
She looks up at me and goes, “thanks!”. But that can’t be all, right? I feel pressure to follow it up with something. And so I look at one of her tattoos that’s called my attention– it is a tattoo of a cat playing a drum– and I go, “is that a tattoo of a cat playing a drum?”. And she goes “yup”. And I’m still groggy and half awake and I look down and I realize she’s already got my papers ready and she’s handing them over to me and now the pressure is REALLY on to say something at least halfway clever and all I keep thinking is how I just spent 90 minutes listening to Kevin Smith rambling about eating his wife’s ass and I feel like enough time has passed that I’m standing here in silence and she’s handing me my papers and I REALLY SHOULD SAY SOMETHING BUT I JUST DON’T KNOW AND
and I go, “… I like cats that are talented.”
She smiles politely. I clear my throat. Grab my papers and quietly walk away, more embarrassed than I have ever been.
I still have no clue what the fuck that was supposed to mean, and I wonder if that girl knows that I’m as perplexed by that comment as she was.