THE SNOB. BOUTIQUES OF MEATS
On his way to work the man passed by a restaurant - here in Buenos Aires they call it "Restó" - and he dreamed one day to eat that meat that only the Gods could taste.
When he received his first salary he went in search of a barber but only found luminous signs that called the clients to cut their hair with a "Coifer". He, who came from the interior of a Caribbean country where the barber was called a barber and the local barbershop, was confused by these names.
He was attended by a pretty girl who asked him what kind of haircut he wanted. When she saw the client doubtful, she looks him with so much attention and she brought a color catalog with young Westerners, beautiful and with different cuts.
The man chose one that was fashionable in his country of origin and that at the same time allowed to open to the prevailing fashion around him.
_ But where is the Coifer? - he asked.
It was all in his right because he was the one who paid for the service.
- Is not it something like a French or Belgian?
-Do not. Sir, That's what they call now the unisex places where we cut the hair, mainly the wealthy women.
-Proceed Girl. Proceed
When the cut was finished she showed him the haircut in the mirror. He looked well and liked the result. He was already going to take the money out of his wallet when the girl told him:
-Eyebrows. Eyebrows. Do not want to be waxed ?.
The man felt that this was an attack on his manhood and he answered.
-No lady. My eyebrows do not touch.
- What a pity. So populated that you have them. The eyebrows are the frame of the face.
- Sorry, miss, but that's for sissies.
The man, almost offended, stood up, paying with his plastic card - he took it out of his pocket as if from his birth he only took out a platinum card from his pants - and retired.
That night he dressed in a blue suit - the only one he had - secondhand and a red tie and finally set out to enjoy the boutique of meat that was only exported.
Upon entering the "Resto" everyone was silent and looked at him. The waiter, smelling a good tip, rushed to get him a table with a good view. It seemed that the Duke of Holland or Prince Charles had entered. They both looked at him.
Out of the corner of his eyes he studied the other diners. The blondes were dyed with long hair and as if they ended up leaving the pool or the beach. Dressed in white robes, they showed carefree until the birth of their thighs and their husbands or couples, in khaki shorts, were not far behind.
He identified several languages, German, Brazilian and some Argentines. As the man remained silent he thought that he was being taken by a millionaire from Norway or Iceland. He started that disease called snobbery.
When the waiter told him in a pure Argentine accent what he was going to drink, the man said:
- Tell me the wine cellar you have?
-Well ... uh ... uh ... Come here and I'll show you what your lordship chooses.
The increasing discharge of snobbery ran through his whole body and he felt overwhelmed but at the same time happy.
He led him to a drinks cabinet. There were beers of very Creole names like "Doña Pepita" "Escaramuza" "Toña"
"Too vulgar," the man said to himself.
And he saw a bottle that reminded him of a German name "st ..."
He pointed with a finger and returned to his table. After a while the boy arrived with the bottle sweating from how cold it was. He served it in a large glass.
The man tasted it slowly. It tasted like rays on his thorath. It was bitter and made of seawater. But he drank it without complaint as if he was already used to that brand.
But the crisis of snobbery did not end.
When it was the turn of the meat. The man was expecting a good barbecue wrapped in colored ribbons and a cap from the local football team. That's what he had dreamed and imagined.
It was a simple big steak the size of the dish, with lettuce and tomatoes. Disillusioned the man swallowed all the flesh. It was juicy, tender and it seems that of cows raised in one laboratory.
He ate without stirring, chewing with his mouth closed and peacefully. The others had long since stopped looking at him.
When he finish. He ordered a drink and the waiter told him what was his taste. Seeing the customer doubtful, He took him back to the refreshment case. He saw the commons that were everywhere. Then he notice a brand that he had never drunk and that seemed bottled far but far away.
-Give me that. The Schw ...
Already at the table, great was his surprise to see that the soda was a simple lemonade with gas. The attack snobbishly deflated and he paid with all the rest of the month's salary that remained on the plastic card.
When he returned home - the truth was that the steak was tasty and next to the copious salad.
- I had my abdomen like a pump.
He felt a gas struggling to get out and instead a stream of poop ran down his legs.
The man quietly went to where he lived, smelling unpleasantly and told himself:
- "Simplicity. Simplicity. It's what makes a man happy "