Santiago Dancing Queen

I spent part of the summer in Santiago, where my cousin took me around to to sample the night-life. We happened to go to a strip that was reminiscent of Strathcona’s Whyte Ave. in Edmonton. Anyway, we met up with my cousin’s friend, who just happened to call him. Of course, she was partying nearby with friends, most of which were accompanied –except for a gorgeous tall and dark brunette beauty. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. My cous’ hitched up with his friend, who has a crush on him. I was introduced to the lone beauty and it was suggested I ask her to dance, not that this was stopping her –she seemed to be doing fine all by herself on the dance floor. If there’s one thing you can say about her it’s, “The girl sure likes to dance”. She was pretty but wasn’t my style –really. I like my girls to look healthy, forget the anorexic model look.

Despite a painful groin injury and some pulled muscles, due to some un-sportsman-like low blows at your “friendly” Santiago Kick-Boxing club, I had limited movement but sucked it for one night on the town –with the help of some heavy duty analgesics. Well, we danced sporadically as I excused myself to rest my injury, giving way with tunes I could not dance. While I excused myself she told me I shouldn’t feel obligated to dance with her because she could dance alone all night long. We went through this spiel about four times. I got the impression that she was emotionally vulnerable and explained that the sole reason for my departures was because I had an injury, and because I couldn’t dance tropical tunes (“you see, I’ve grown up in Canada”). In an attempt to avoid her any emotional turmoil, I offered her conversation at a nearby table. She refused and I walked on over to where my cousin flirted with his friend.

When I arrived at the table, I turned to see that my “dance partner” had virtually disappeared (with one of her female friends, I later found out). I thought it odd that she would disappear, unless she felt rejected (it was the third or fourth time I’d stopped dancing to stand by the table). I was starting to imagine the worst; She suffered from low self-esteem and I had repeatedly injured it.

The tall brunette reappeared after a lengthy period. Only she had replaced me with another guy. I’d previously seen him dancing with another girl, but made nothing of him. I found out he had unsuccessfully made her a bunch of passes, hours ago before we’d met up. She had blatantly and publicly rejected him. Rough stuff, but every dog has his day, and today was his day. The new couple strategically danced in my view. Fine. I made nothing of it and chatted with my cousin, his friend, and anyone else that would converse. It was then that I noticed they integrated humping into their personalised routine. Well, I thought it odd, after all she had rejected him hours ago. I looked elsewhere and noticed that their routine was the most explicit on the floor. After a bit, she started to French him, all the while staring straight into my eyes. At this point I started to feel targeted, but not jealous. How could I feel jealous for a girl I’d just met the same night? My way of dealing with this was simply to pivot ten degrees to my left so as not to see them. Well long and behold, her way of solving the “out of viewing range” problem was to plop herself and partner in front of me, all the while performing the forbidden dance with the humping action, Frenching, and –by this point– groping. And so I did another pivot, a twenty-five degree turn to my right. They (or she) countered by placing themselves in front of me as they did before, to which I responded by doing an “one eighty” toward the table I’d been leaning on, facing a ledge and a window looking out onto the street.

While it was all happening I couldn’t help but thinking the underdog that got his day. I’m not sure if he knew why his luck changed so drastically, nor do I think he cared. He was getting his chance and was going to milk it dry. At the end of the night, the group with which we met left to party elsewhere, but my cousin and I called it a night. It was then, I realised my replacement’s usefulness would end with my absence, and so would his luck.

Upon recapping the night, my cousin couldn’t understand why I felt so positive and could laugh about the entire incident. I explained, I felt flattered that I impacted this gorgeous woman so much that she would go to such machinations to upset me. She could just have a low self-esteem, and account for her behaviour this way, but I think there’s more to it because I repeatedly see this among Chileans; I’m not speaking from this one experience when I write this but, I find Chilean women painfully obvious and child-like. They are quick to feel offended and respond accordingly, even with inappropriate manners (you see she wasn’t my girlfriend or even my date). Chilean counterparts are nothing like Canadian women which are much more reserved, maybe it’s the English influence of not showing your emotions on your sleeve. There is also a flip side, I also find Chilean women very warm and well-coming (at least I do), but –most of all– I find them entertaining.

Maurice Cepeda

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