After the insanity of Friday night, I finally passed out around 10 a.m. and woke up at 2:30 p.m. with my legs-a-aching. The rest of the afternoon I sat around in my underwear, blogged and tried to nap until the sun went down. Then it was time to get the party started. However, this time I was prepared. I now understood the Argentine schedule so after dinner (aka around 10:30) I wanted to buy some booze for the party and go home and chill. Unfortunately, all the stores where I’d been browsing cheap booze before dinner were now closed and everyone on the street was telling us that the “kioskos” (corner stores) couldn’t sell booze after 11 or some bullshit. At first I couldn’t comprehend how a city that starts partying at 3 a.m. stops selling alcohol at 11 but that was a mystery quickly solved. I tried to buy fernet and a liter of Coke at a kiosk and the dude said loudly, “Oh sorry, I can’t sell this to you. It’s too late.” and then whispered, “Meet me next door in a minute.” He brought me my booze, I palmed him his cash, and that’s how the fuck business gets done.
Fernet and Coke accomplished, I went back home and sipped boozey soda and watched Game of Thrones on my laptop until around 1:30 a.m. My friends and I reconvened and headed out for a house party I’d seen posted on the Buenos Aires Couchsurfing message board. When we got there, some lady that seemed like the housekeeper (?) was working the door and the party was fucking PACKED! We got in without problems though and thus began the blurry, slurred night of adventures that mainly consisted of drinking warm Coke with way too much fernet and no ice (not delicious at all, by the way) and talking with strangers in bad Spanish.
Apparently Harrison sucks at taking photos but these are the dudes that are about to factor into this anecdote in just a second. So after we got to the party, I milled around the dance floor and drank and talked to people. Eventually, all that fernet and Coke forced me to go locate “el baño.” I found a hallway with a bunch of people that was shaped like a T on its side, like one of those pain in the ass Tetris pieces. I thought the bathroom was straight across the T but a desk was blocking the way to the other half. Some dude at the desk wouldn’t let me pass and I was like, “No man, I need to pee. Where’s the bathroom?” and he just kept saying I couldn’t come through this way. Some other dude behind him with a big Argentine mullet came over and argued with me too. Both of these guys were dicks. Eventually someone was like, “Yo man, the bathroom is over here actually” and gestured down the other side of the T. While in line, I joked with some guys about what a dick the short guy guarding the hallway was and how stupid it was to have a “VIP area” at a house party. This isn’t a celebrity hosting event featuring an appearance by R. Kelly, ya know?
After pissing, I went back to the kitchen and talked to Harrison. While we were chatting, we watched two people carry out a passed out guy. I looked over and realized the passed out guy was the dude who had been guarding the VIP hallway. I got caught up in a side conversation for a moment and when I turned back to Harrison he was laughing at something the guys I’d joked with in the bathroom line (the dudes in the photo above) were saying. I asked him what was going on. This was how he explained it.
“So apparently these two guys are Argentine special forces. They saw that dude being “un boludo” to you (being a prick, more or less) and didn’t like how he was treating a foreigner. So they knocked him the fuck out and threw his shoes out the window.”
I confirmed the story with the guys and they were super casual about it. “Yeah, that guy was a dick so we knocked him out. No big deal.” The crazy thing was Harrison and I must have been 8 feet from where this guy was standing when he got knocked out – in a crowded party mind you – and we didn’t hear any commotion or notice anything going on. Argentine special forces are smooth operators, I guess.
Around 6:30 a.m. some new friends invited me to go get breakfast with them. Sitting around bullshitting in a little cafe sounded great but before I even had time to ask “Where are we going?” we had walked across the street and into the biggest, most crowded Burger King I’ve ever seen. The place was packed like Whataburger in West Campus at 2 a.m. I was laughing hysterically but couldn’t explain to my new friends why I thought this was such a funny place to get “desayuno” (breakfast). I actually kind of like checking out fast food places when I travel to see what weird shit they have on the menu, but Burger King Buenos Aires is more or less the same. They put ham on more stuff, the sign for the Steakhouse burger has a note that says “(pronounced “steikjaus”)”, and there are a bunch of bikes parked inside because Burger King delivers here. Also, the interior decorator had made some half assed attempt at retro diner style, I guess trying to amplify the cool cache of Burger King’s “American-ness.” But seriously, if you’re trying to make someplace look like a different era, isn’t putting a sign up that says “50’s” hella lazy? I can’t remember ever being someplace in the last decade where “00’s” was posted on the wall in neon.
After that I went to sleep. Sunday was nice and lazy though Harrison and I did go to El Ateneo, which is a super sick bookstore in an old theater. Read more about it here if you’d like. I read some of Arthur C. Clarke’s Rendezvous with Rama in Spanish, drank a coffee, and relaxed. Good times.