Los ajedrecistas (The chessplayers)

There we were: Ruben, Maneesh, Carrie, Lucas, Horash, Guido, and me. I really knew none of these people. Ash from a purro floated in Ruben's finished bowl of frosted flakes. Carrie had just brought in a lemon meringue pie as a gesture of goodwill, and we were about to order pizza. Horash, an Italian-Iranian, called it in; they said it'd be 80 pesos for 2 larges and some empanadas. Lucas, a local, couldn't believe it. He called back. Asked about the price. "40 pesos," they now said, and apologized for the error.

I was wearing a hat - a vain attempt to dissimulate the blemish on my forehead. Ruben and Horash, meanwhile, apparently felt no need to hide their chest acne underneath a shirt. I wasn't sure what any of this said about any of us. Surely something!

The plan was to go see a drum show that would go from 7-10pm, but we were in no hurry. As we waited for the pizza to arrive, Horash asked me if I would like to play a game of chess. "Oh," I hesitated, "I really haven't played for a while, and I'm not very good either." Both of my excuses were true. I used to play a fair amount back when I was a camp counselor, in my early 20's and late teen's. I even led an activity called "Chess w/ Wellser!" a few times, which was fun. But the thought of playing chess brought back bad memories as well, including always being bested by an 11-year old named Trevor, no matter how I thought I had him cornered. "You got served, Wellser. Checkmate," he would calmly state, looking me square in the eye, and then proceed to flick over my king with his child finger. "What!?!" I'd helplessly bemoan back at the boy..."Ahh, come on," Horash implored. "I'm not very good either. Let's just play one game!" "OK, OK, one game."

Horash indeed was not very good, but he still handily beat me. His was a modest victory, and we had a pleasant chat as we played. Ruben and Lucas kept trying to sing some song together all the while. "What song are they singing?" I asked Horash. "You don't know this song!?!" he nearly screamed at me. "It's '_________!' It's by Jack Johnson! How can you not know this song!?! I can't believe you, man." I had no reply.

At 9:30 Ruben, Maneesh, and myself finally make our way to the drum show. The group, made up of 17 percussion players on different instruments, was called La Bomba del Tiempo (Time bomb) and it's self-styled description read "El trance del ritmo en estado puro" ("Rhythm's trance in its purest state"). Of course, we took it in from the street, along with scores of other people, both local and foreign, as it was too late to get in to the venue, but that was fine by me.

Monday night, and there's not much going on, so we head back to the house with the chess board. Finding myself with little to do, I watch as Guido and Maneesh play. Guido is impossibly handsome and also impossible to understand. He doesn't so much articulate words as he laughs them out of his mouth. Like Cody from Step by Step, but in Spanish.

Guido wins, and, since everyone else at the house seems to be occupied, I'm asked if I'd like to play next. I don't really want to, but I say OK. I move first. "That's a stupid way to start out the game!" Guido laughs. The game goes on for a bit...
"What are you thinking, Robert?
Don't your pawns matter to you - they're people, too, you know!
Wow. You are not very good.
When was the last time you played?
Look at me, everyone! I'm able play chess, talk on the phone with an ugly girl, smoke, and drink - All at the same time! I'm multi-tasking!"

Lucas comes over to see what all the commotion is about. "You know, he can beat you in four moves, Guido," he says. Guido laughs it off, naturally. "Whatever, boludo." I clearly don't see what Lucas is talking about; I don't give a damn either. Lucas starts to engage me in conversation as the game continues. I tell him what I'm doing here in Buenos Aires. "Oh, yeah? I already have a doctorate from the states" he tells me. His work clothes still on, though his white, fitted shirt is now unbuttoned halfway down his chest. "Nice. In what?" I ask. "Business administration? International relations?" "No, in computer programming." "Ah, cool. From where?" A dramatic pause leads to a smile of superiority: "MIT. And you should move your rook here." At which point, he moves my rook for me.