Anger Management

Anger Management

Filed under Blog Notes

Jun 27

On Thursday, June 24 of the year 2010, at approximately 2:30 pm, a Mexican man was rude to me. I know the time and date because, in a country that values courtesy as much as Mexico does, to be treated badly by a salesperson is on the level of a total eclipse of the sun. I don’t think I’ve ever even met an impolite Mexican, so bumping into a rude salesperson had a lot more impact than if I was shopping in New Jersey for example, or Paris.

Traffic around here is kind of a separate category, of course. To the uninitiated, drivers in these parts might seem a little rude. But then, to the uninitiated, professional wrestling might look like fighting. Once the new motorist in Mexico understands that driving is a sport, like paintball, the existence of rules of engagement become clear.

Generally speaking, Mexicans are gentle and well mannered to a fault. So you could have knocked me over with a feather when the kid in question, an employee in a local furniture store who was obviously having a psychotic break, started having a big conniption at me. I stood frozen in horror as he made a spectacle of both of us, hopping around like that cowboy cartoon character Yosemite Sam and hollering nonsense about how business is done in this country, using one hand to hitch up the brown polyester pants that kept slipping down to pool around his thick soled shoes while he stabbed the finger of his other in the general direction of my bosom. He was short, too short for the pants, and way, way too short to be feinting and jabbing in the neighborhood of any obstacle so formidable as my bosom, especially when it’s corseted up for a day in town.

” Do I want you to call the police? Is that what you said?’ I couldn’t believe my ears. ” Dude, get a grip on yourself! Why would you call the police? I just want to buy a refrigerator! Stop jumping around!” Behind him, Bruno twirled a finger at his temple in the universal sign for crazy, and mouthed the words “World Cup” at me.

I don’t think it’s FIFA fever though, as rampant as that is. Everyone around here is in a pretty good mood about World Cup*. I felt a momentary cold twinge of sadness when it occurred to me that maybe we were going to start experiencing hostility from the local folks over the whole Arizona thing, but in general our hosts here are able to separate us from our knucklehead countrymen up North. No, I’m definitely leaning toward psychotic break.

I have been re-introduced to the joys of good manners since we moved here. Etiquette of the kind that I remember being taught from childhood books, and that was later replaced by “entertaining.” It’s a lovely thing, elegant and satisfying for it’s own sake. It makes you remember that civilisation has more to offer than making money and humiliating retail personnel.

There is a wave that is used, a gesture that seemed somehow aggressive before I was familiar with it, like something Ralph Camden might do with his hand as he bellowed “To the Moon, Alice!” It involves a carefully calibrated rotation and the use of the back, not the palm, of the hand. It is a gesture of respect and acknowledgement. Now that I’m used to it, I am thrilled whenever I receive such a wave, which strikes me as being as refined and dignified as a court curtsy. I like to give it, as well, and my arm has a bobblehead quality to it as I rotatate and wave my way around the village.

If I have the blues, a stroll to my village plaza is a guaranteed cure. The friendly nods, the tip of cowboy hats, the knots of villagers who sing “Buenas Tardes” in unison, that cool hand gesture when I let a driver have the right of way, the gracious bows delivered by old abuelas in their flowered rayon skirts and mantillas and knee high support hose. No matter how sour my mood when I leave the house, immersion in the good manners of my village will soothe me.

So what went wrong in the furniture store? It was just a negotiation that took a nasty turn, and I extricated myself as handily I could. The price on the appliance didn’t match the one in the computer, it was one of those things, and I admit I got a little pompous. The salesman was out of control, and although it’s hard to resist the desire to one up an opponent in that kind of confrontation (I’m a big one for rearing back and puffing up my aforementioned rigidly corseted chest and saying something stupid like “Do you know who I am?” as if I might actually have some leverage in a Mexican furniture store, which I most certainly do not). I knew the event was an aberration, so it was easy for me to avoid getting caught up in it, to let it go. In addition, as empty as the threat was, I wasn’t about to let the police get involved, even though we both knew they probably would have delivered a beating to the guy for calling them and interrupting their poker game. I’m less interested in being right than in being happy, and keeping a low profile, in my opinion, is one of the secrets to a contented life in Mexico.

On our way down the street to purchase a refrigerator at Coppell, the arch rival of Muebles America (oh, come on. it’s one thing to rise above, but I wasn’t about to give any money to those cretins) I said to Bruno, “Wow, that guy was having a really bad day.” “Eh,” Bruno responded with a shrug. “He’s probably from California.”

*they were when this happened, I should say. The Argentina match was yet to be played

8 Comments

8 Responses to “Anger Management”

tancho said on June 27th, 2010 at 8:44 am

That’s what happens when you move a whole cultural community into the middle of Mexico and bring NOB meltdown viruses down.

Maybe he saw one too many signs in English….?

You’re still better off than customer service NOB. I can write a book on how employees run perfectly good businesses into the ground.
TW said on June 27th, 2010 at 12:39 pm

Wow! What was the name of that store? I don’t want my wife going in there. She has a history of putting people in a world of hurt when they go off on her.

I’m reminded of a guy who insulted her in the check out line of a Best Buy, and ended up having his shin bleeding from two deep cuts, and he ended up being escorted to his car by security, and told to hit the road before she finished him off.

Knowing how slow large abrasive cuts heal on a person’s shin, his memory of her had to linger a long, long time.
Elliott said on June 28th, 2010 at 3:42 am

I like the term “NOB meltdown virus” I was thinking that as it happened, that it was such a North American type of event. It really seemed surreal that it was happening in Chapala!
TW said on June 28th, 2010 at 6:08 am

I’ve attended professional sports events in so many different stadiums over the years that I’ve lost track of the count. The least courteous people working anywhere has to be those in the beer, food, and novelty stands.

That is, except for one place. Green Bay, Wisconsin. They are fantastic, helpful, friendly, and they even know how to smile. Something totally avoided anywhere else.

The rudeness you get at sports events is the same rudeness that’s beginning to happen everywhere, in stores. It’s as if the clerks feel they’re doing you a great big favor for even taking a moment to insult you, and give you condescending looks.

Like stated in the original blog – it’s not Paris, but it’s beginning to look more like it up here every day.

Then there’s the issue in Arizona that was mentioned. It’s amazing how “white folk” that moved to Arizona have a tendency to think that it’s a “white state,” and all those Mexicans and Indians don’t belong there.

Maybe they should read their history books, unless they’ve done like Texas, and removed everything from them that says they lost the Civil War, etc…

Sorry for the soap box!
David Krug said on June 28th, 2010 at 7:34 pm

Ahh how much I miss the politeness of Mexico… I’m coming back soon. I can’t stand it here in the “North” country.
Elliott said on June 29th, 2010 at 9:16 am

Let me know when you’re back, I really want to pick your brain. Buy you lunch?
David said on July 10th, 2010 at 5:03 pm

sounds to me like the guy lost his muebles…

jejeje

btw: My neighbor attended your Salsa class and is trying to convince me to come. I told her, ‘sorry, I don’t lead. just lazy, I guess.’ She told me, “don’t worry. Elliott tells you what to do and when to do it.”
duh. I haven’t seen you for awhile. I forgot.
bob in exile said on July 10th, 2010 at 5:17 pm

Actually Elliot I think you handled that superbly, I’ve only had one finger waver assault me in the 40 years I’ve been here and I told him” if you stick your finger in my face again I’ll bite it off.”
But you meet all kinds and I’m a store owners worse nightmare, If I feel like I’ve been slighted I will not return.
Then theres absentee owners, The owners are at the Zocalo drinking Frappachino coffees & they’ve left a $50 peso a day (indifferent) clerk to take care of business, the clerk starts tapping their fingers on the counter, impatient because you’ve asked a ridiculous question like do you have beef tacos or something similar and rudely interrupt their reading of a telenovela magazine. The boss comes by every two hours to clean out the cash register and of course they don’t have change for anything bigger than a twenty peso note.
Then the pendulum swings the other way and they are overly helpful to get you what you need.
You just have to be flexible. I’ve had finger wavers in the states also so its universal. Some people just get bent out of shape.