THANK YOU!

“Hey italian boludo. I think that piece is done!” exclaimed Carlos, from his chair.

The Italian, sweating from standing too close to the fire, looked at Carlos with disdain, then at the metal tongues on his hand, then at Carlos a second time. His standing suggested that he was about to throw what he was holding at Carlos, but quickly changed his mind, and opted instead to take a long sip of his rum bottle.

Another barbecue night. As the Finca is full, the owner, Carlos, decided to char grill lots of chicken pieces. One of the guests, an Italian dude, armed with lots of optimism (and a bottle of Captain Morgan rum), volunteered to help out. For Carlos, if someone volunteers, it means that someone will do all the man labour, whilst he supervises the work from a safe distance. Thus, Carlos quickly grabbed a chair, sat on it and started ordering the Italian around. Makes me chuckle every time. I guess if this was my business I would end up doing the same.

Last time we had a sweaty BBQ, I failed to take any photos because my so called water proof camera died a silly death after getting wet. Go figure. But this time I came prepared. Ah! Zahava, a Finca guest that I’ve been hanging out with, had her super duper camera with her, so I asked her take a few photos of the Barbecue (I know of a Uruguayan mate who will love to see them).

 

Zahava still struggles with all the 672 settings of her camera (what’s that “ISO 900” thing for anyway?) but, due to her extraordinary eye for detail, she does take some amazing shots. When I praised her photographic skills, she immediately tried to explain and defuse the compliment given.

Why we all do that?

When we’re kids if we get complimented, all we can mutter is a shy “Thanks sir.”

As we get older and wiser, we can’t just accept a compliment at face value; we brush it off, try to explain or refuse it.

I recall once when I told a mate that his shirt was really cool. His abrupt and immediate answer was “Oh, this old rag? I bought it really cheap in a second hand shop.”

Or when I said to another buddy “Wow! Dude, your motorbike is awesome!” He replied “Uh? This old piece of shit? I got it in some junk yard.”

If I compliment someone, say on their outfit, and they say something negative, I immediately feel that I ought to run down to the nearest newsagent and purchase the latest edition of GQ, Esquire or any other fashion mag, as obviously, I have no taste on clothes.

Regardless of the compliment, there is only one acceptable reply. It is a simple “Thank you.”

Back to my initial story. Later on, all 42 customers were sat down enjoying the delicious grilled feast. The meat was just right, not uncooked, not burnt but crispy at the right spots. Carlos shouted across the room “Boludo, well done! The chicken is really good!” The Italian stood up, this time holding a big chunk of grilled meat and spat out “It better be, you bastardo. I worked my arse off!”

Ciao 4 now

~ Paulo ~