a tale of two bums

Since I have been here, it has been a special treat to get to go out to eat. My grandmother (like many other Chileans I have met) has a live-in maid or nana, who cooks all of the meals and cleans. My grandma's "empleada" is named Luisa and she gets a day off every week, which is really our only opportunity to go out to eat. The only thing that thwarts this opportunity is that Luisa, being nice, usually leaves something for us to heat up for ourselves when she leaves. Even if she doesn't, my grandma is the type to say "We have rice and eggs, we can just eat here." Meanwhile, I dream of gourmet meals and salivate at the thought of even just eating Chinese take-out. (p.s. the Chinese food here is REALLY good.) I can't even tell you how many times I have offered to treat my grandma to lunch on Sundays and been turned down (ever so politely). You can imagine my surprise then, when today she declined a lunch invitation from my aunt so that my cousin, her, and I could go out to eat.

My grandmother lives in a part of Santiago that is considered to be very "cuico" (rich), and the street beside her apartment is lined with quite a few fine restaurants, many of which offer "executive lunches" on weekdays where you can get an appetizer, entree, beverage, and dessert for the equivalent of about $6. We chose to eat at one such restaurant called "Fragrante," even though we knew the special prices weren't running today. Since the weather was nice, we asked to be seated in the patio section of the restaurant, which was covered with a tent but had windows cut into the fabric. The three of us ordered pasta dishes and were enjoying them and chatting about going to the mall after lunch to buy my cousin a birthday present when a bum sauntered up to the window hole in the tent. As is the usual treatment of bums that I have observed here, none of us looked at or talked to him. He proceeded to tell us about his dental problems and how people don't give him money because they think he's an alcoholic and how he was hungry and everybody gives him bread and he didn't want bread, he wanted money. Now, I would have gladly given him some of my food, but the fact that he only wanted money was a very clear clue to me that food was not what he was after. By the time he finished his schpiel, the waiter came over to ask him to leave, at which point said bum became outraged and said the conversation was between us and him and he could talk to us if he wanted. While I stared really hard at my penne pasta with pomodoro sauce, basil, artichokes, and parmesan cheese, this homeless man started shouting obscenities at my grandma, calling her a conchatumadre (translate that yourself) and a vieja mala (mean/bad old woman). I felt so helpless and angry, especially because I know how good of a person my grandma is and how much she actually does to help the poor in Santiago. Eventually I shouted out "We don't speak Spanish." and waved him away with my hand, but he was too busy flipping out to notice. I don't really know what I thought saying that would do, but I just needed to say something. I guess I think I'm tough.

Anyway, eventually the bum left, and a few minutes later ANOTHER ONE came up. At first I got really scared because I thought it was the first bum coming back for more, except maybe with a stick or a gun, but it turned out to be a much more tranquil bum who just kind of mumbled and left without complaint when the waiter asked him to. Now, I don't know how most people would feel about such an encounter, but I am not used to being accosted by bums. Most of the ones I have encountered in Savannah and Athens are sociable and, dare I say, friendly when asking for money. Even most of the bums here do some odd task (like juggling at a red light or helping you parallel park) to earn money. And this, this had me sad and shocked all at once. The waiter told us that in this neighborhood there is no loitering ordinance and so legally they cannot do anything about the bums. He said there are quite a few that walk from restaurant to restaurant harassing customers, and apparently it is such a problem that they have talked to the mayor about it. Well, after all of that excitement, we thanked the waiter for helping us out, paid our bill, and started walking back to my grandma's apartment, a little shaken, but full of good food. Along the way, we crossed paths with the freak-out bum, who, oddly enough, didn't say a word or even acknowledge our existence.

It makes me sad to see the level of poverty here and the detriments of the very firmly set social classification system, but that was one bum I didn't feel sorry for. I do have to say that not even that run-in ruined my long-yearned-for restaurant experience. Almost nothing comes between food and me.