If the Price is Right
Years ago, back when I was still a greenhorn Costa Rica Guy, I had some buddies from the States fly in for a weekend of fun.
Weekends of fun back then usually meant Jaco Beach. So, that’s where we headed.
Little did we know that a not all too uncommon event called a “huelga” (general strike in English) was about to take place that would shut off all access into and out of San Jose for the next several days.
It was a truckers strike, which they implemented by blocking all roads into and out of the city with their massive rigs.
Well, we were already situated in Jaco when we received the news. To be honest, it wasn’t that unpleasant to find out we were stuck there. We had plenty of debauchery in mind to keep us busy for the next few days and nights.
Well, after one particularly rowdy night, we awoke to find that one of us was missing.
It was Jonathan, who was known to be quite a wanderer, especially after he had had a few too many Imperials.
It was particularly disturbing because this guy was the quintessential gringo, no Spanish and white as a ghost, so that he would definitely stand out as prey for the many “chusma” (or, bad guys) that prowled Jaco’s mean streets at night.
Well, he eventually showed. And, what’s more, he had quite the story to tell.
(I’m going to tell it in the first-person for more dramatic effect…
but just bear in mind that this DID NOT happen to me)
…
So, in the words of Jonathan, our wandering friend…
I was sitting at the bar in that last disco that we visited when I noticed that the crowd was getting thin. I glanced at my watch to discover that, my, time had flown. It was around 2:00 am. What’s more I looked around to notice that the rest of you clowns had bolted the scene and left me to fend for myself.
(at which point we all reminded him that we had informed him clearly that we were leaving in mass, but he vehemently insisted on staying)
I noticed down at the end of the bar this one lonely girl who seemed kinda cute. I imagined that she was probably “open for business” since there are very few girls in bars in Jaco at 2:00 am who aren’t.
So, I decided to saunter on over and strike up a conversation. I tried to mutter a few of the words I knew in Spanish, but she only gave me an annoying look. I pointed at my beer and she nodded that yes, I was welcome to invite her to one.
It was then that I noticed that she was holding an off and on conversation with the bartender using her hands…
this girl couldn’t talk at all. In fact, she was sordomuda.
(that’s deaf-mute in English and we were all amazed that he knew that uncommon Spanish word…we guessed that the bartender had told him)
Well, wouldn’t you know it, but I know a little sign language. In fact, the conversation from that point on was probably much better than if I’d been trying to talk to her in Spanish.
Come to find out, she was indeed an off and on working girl.
(that’s sort of what they all tell you)
So, I negotiated an hour of more intimate conversation with her using my semi-intelligible signing. Since I had no real idea how to get back to our hotel, we decided to go to her place.
An hour or so later, after our “conversation”, she politely asked for the money. At which point I reached into my wallet and pulled out what was the equivalent of a twenty in local currency.
By the look on her face I knew something was dreadfully wrong. She began waving her hands wildly. It seems that she had a different figure in mind…
to be specific, one with another zero in it.
I told her there was no way I was paying anything like that.
You see in my alcohol influenced gringo reasoning, girls who can speak English command a bit of a premium. Those who can’t have to discount a little. So, I reasoned that this girl should really be a bargain!
Well, she didn’t see things that way.
In the heat of the discussion she managed to lock all the doors and demand that I not leave until she was paid.
I told her I didn’t have the money and I was leaving immediately.
At this point, she was clearly pissed…
and could you really blame her?
So there we sat for what seemed like an eternity…staring each other down.
It was then that I remembered that I’d hidden a few bills inside my shoe, as was my custom. It only amounted to about half what she was demanding and was about all the money I had left for the trip…
but hey, I wanted the hell out of there.
I gave it to her and she reluctantly agreed to release me from confinement.
By that time the sun was starting to come up and I had no idea where I was, or how to get back to the hotel. And the neighborhood didn’t look like one I should be in.
I saw a taxi approaching, so I waived him down and tried my best to explain where I needed to go. He seemed to have a pretty good idea.
So, here I am…definitely a little worse for the wear.
(a little? Jonathan looked like warmed-over shit).
The three of us sat there in rapt silence listening to Jonathan’s unbelievable tale of woe with the deaf-mute hooker.
When he finished, there really wasn’t much we could say…
we were sort of in awe…
or shock, perhaps?
The next day we learned that during the night the President of Costa Rica had sent in the police to clear the roads of truckers and their rigs. The huelga had ended and we could get back into the city. My buddies were relieved as they had a flight back to the States the next day.
We vowed never to mention a word about Jonathan’s experience.
So, I hesitated to include this sordid episode in my series of the tall tales of Costa Rica Guy…
after all, what happens in Costa Rica is supposed to stay in Costa Rica…
and it did for many years.
But, unfortunately, it’s simply to good to be kept a secret any longer…
and anyway, names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
image credit: fireballk2588 via Compfight cc
Comments