The scarlett letter

Nov. 16th 2007

Hello people!

OK, so just this once, I will break my “don’t kiss and tell” rule – mainly because you guys will never meet the parties involved – and because this was just too funny not to share. Some of you know parts of the story already, but bear with me. Hopefully no one will be shocked by my wanton behavior.

When I first got to Greece, I briefly dated a guy from Nafplio (the Peloponnesus city my grandma is from, remember? We have an apartment there). I knew he was younger than me, thinking he was about 23. After we’d been dating a little while, I discovered he was actually 19. Yes, 19. As in, not allowed to drink in the US.

Anyway, deciding I shouldn’t be narrow-minded, I decided to disregard that fact. I obviously knew it was not destined to be a long-term relationship, but I rather liked the guy (not to mention he was hot – there, I just proved how shallow I am). Anyway, after a couple of months that relationship ran its course.

[Soon after, I felt a Carrie Bradshaw-like impulse to write a list of reasons why that was a good thing. I’ll spare you the full list, but among others they include:

#3. He felt the need to explain the punch line of every joke
#9. He thought James Dean was a brand]

Now, interestingly enough, the most shocking thing for my Greek friends was not that he was 19, but that he was ALBANIAN!!!!!!!!!!!!
What? EEEeeew! One of those sleazy mafia guys? The sneaky type that sell you tissues at every stop light while stealing your purse/selling drugs to minors/robbing banks/killing babies and eating them?!?!?!?

Of course, they didn’t say that out loud, but it was all in THE LOOK they gave me. One of my favorite comments? “You should be careful. I’m not racist, but Albanians don’t think like us. You know. They don’t respect women and all.” To quote one of you guys: it’s good to know there’s no serious racism in Greece.

But one of the best parts was my grandma. I hadn’t told her about this guy, but my mother knew I was dating him, so we got into the habit of discussing said guy when having lunch, since my grandma has a tendency to focus all her attention on the TV – which she leaves almost perpetually on with some obnoxious “news” playing.

A word of explanation is necessary here: “News”, for Greek TV stations, has widely differing definitions. The state channels tend to have the same broad definition as most Western countries: a general attempt at informing people about what’s going on locally and – hopefully – internationally. But my grandma’s favorite channels, a.k.a. those that support HER political party, [yes, people here watch TV according to political views, not what they actually want to watch] – those have different ideas.

They basically consist of a presenter inviting several “guests” from opposing political parties and [as far as I can tell] various random guys [who all clearly think they are SOMEONE IMPORTANT] to participate in the show [Oops, sorry: “news”].

Those people are usually shown in several different small windows on the screen, [sometimes as many as 12 – imagine the size of those windows on our tiny TV screen] and the “news” go something like this: the presenter asks a question to which he/she doesn’t really need an answer, it’s just the bait that basically allows all the guests to start screaming at each other.

Those debates tackle such crucial questions as: “Does the fact that someone spilled his coffee on the leader of the opposition represent a terrorist act and is a dangerous attack on democracy – or did the man slightly overreact in his assessment of the situation?” [And the best speech of the year award goes to: “This coffee spilling represents an attempt to silence the truth and is a direct attack on freedom of speech…”] Other pressing matters include: “Should the leader of the opposing party have greeted the main party leader first, or the other way around?” Etc.

This goes on for about an hour: none of the guests listens to what the others have to say, instead they all try to yell louder than the others, trying to be heard above the general din – which of course is an impossibility. That makes for rather unpleasant background noise.

So anyway, my mother and I thought my grandma was completely absorbed in her “news”, which is why I was taken completely by surprise when my grandma turned to me one day and said: “You shouldn’t listen to your mother about guys.” [That in itself was rather an interesting statement, I thought – but I’ll explore it some other day.]

“What guys?” I asked. “The Albanian one”, she replied. “Who told you about that?” I asked, half amazed, half amused. “Well, you certainly didn’t!” She huffed. “Talking in French with your mother, you think I don’t understand? Or maybe you think I’m senile?” I assured her that of course we didn’t think she was senile, we just thought she wasn’t paying attention.

“Anyway”, she said, “I know everything. Even that he’s Albanian.” Thinking I sensed a typical Greek reluctance, I asked: “And does it bother you that he’s Albanian, grandma?” She turned to me, very solemn: “No. I swear to you. I wouldn’t care even if he was Turkish.”

By that time, I was laughing so hard I had trouble asking my next question: “Why, are Turks worse than Albanians?” “Of course”, my sweet, not-wanting-to-be-yet-being-racist grandma very seriously answered. “But if it makes you happy, then I don’t care.” I would have hugged her if I hadn’t been driving.

But let’s get back to the Ex.

We had recently broken up, and I was back in Nafplio to tackle some of those never-ending renovations to the house [it’s been 2 ½ years, folks. Greece. That’s all I have to say.] One of the workers asked me if I was staying long. [He was a friend of the Ex, by the way – I know, this is starting to sound like an episode of the O.C.]

Having never spent my holidays in Nafplio until recently, I know only 1 or 2 people in the area, so I said I was preparing to go back to Athens. He [we’ll call him Nice Guy] said he was going out with some friends [for coffee at 10 pm – those people are insane, I tell you], and I could join them if I felt like it. I thought that would be a great way to meet more people in Nafplio, and agreed.

When 10.30 pm came, so did Nice Guy. [See? Lack of punctuality is not just a Greek thing – it’s also an Albanian thing! I feel so much better now.] Dressed to the nines, he sort of stuttered that his friends couldn’t make it. So I suddenly found myself on what looked suspiciously like a “date” with the guy.

While we were having “coffee” (a slightly stronger drink for me – to brace for what I felt was to come), I discovered that Nice Guy had just turned 18. Yes, as in barely legal. [In my defense, none of those guys look their age.] Anyway, smiling politely, I furiously sipped my drink while calculating that at this rate, by the same time next year I’d be dating 12-year-olds.

I decided I might as well enjoy myself, so I asked him where we could play pool. He took me to “the best place in town” [considering there must be 5 places in all of Nafplio, not that difficult] and we started playing.

Suddenly, a blast of cold air announced a new arrival – and that’s when a time-warp happened and I stepped into a scene from “Grease”. I knew the newcomer [we’ll call him Poser] because he had gone out a couple of times with the Ex and me. Poser was dressed entirely in black, wearing his hair Travolta-style and an attitude to match. He was also followed by a couple of suitably dour-looking henchmen.

Spotting me playing pool with Nice Guy, Poser did a double take, looking from him to me in a very territorial way. [What was HIS FRIEND’S BROAD doing with ANOTHER MAN?!] Curtly nodding in my direction, he said: “Where’s X ?” [Meaning the Ex, you must follow, people.] I replied that I had no idea and he should know better than me.

That’s when he gave me THE LOOK. Even though I’d never been at the receiving end of this particular look so far in my life, I recognized it immediately: it was the look reserved for women of little or no virtue. With a sinking feeling mixed with unexpected glee, I realized I had now become THE SLUT OF NAFPLIO.

Soon after, Nice Guy and I left to go dancing. I thought the damage was done anyway, I might as well savor the tantalizing waves of wantonness that apparently now emanated from me. I thought I could totally handle an 18-year-old – he wouldn’t dare try anything.

Unfortunately, the 18-year-old had other ideas and I had to gently let him down. [“Does it bother you that I’m 18?” “Of course not!”] He sighed and said that maybe with a little time…?

I suddenly had a horrifying vision of all the teenage males of Nafplio rushing to my doorstep in an unending procession, eager to take a shot at the older Athenian floozy, and decided to call it a night.

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SOME FEEDBACK ABOUT THIS NEWSLETTER:

Jim P G:
Scarlet.
Yeah, that's a color that looks good on you. :)

Amy T:
Whoo hooo! Hot times in Greece!!! Love it.

Christine L:
I hope that you are keeping copies of all your emails for your soon to be LOL bestseller, "My Adventures in Greece." You are crazy if you don't turn your experiences into a memoir. The things that you are experiencing are right out of an absurd alternate universe.

Aaron T:
And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson.....
:-)
You Athenian Tart you. Great Story.

François D:
You should be a writer. I mean a novel writer...! You're really good, like seriously good...

Cory M:
All this and you still won't tell me who booty called you in grad school?
Also, my first unattributed quote! Yes!
And your grandmother sounds very sweet.

Will M:
Well, if this new 18-year-old is a nice guy, why not have some fun, right?

Greg H:
I have a friend that works at a junior high school. I can have him hook you up. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was this close /-/ to replying to all on this one!!!! Love me because I didn't.