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Meet Robert. He's 34, extremely miser, divorced and Peruvian. Robert loves Coke, unfortunately not the kind that comes in a can. He loves Coke and selling fake silver jewelry to the tourists. He owns a mini-donut stand, a fake Mickey Mouse costume and a small folding aluminum table that he uses to sale "the best stuff" to idiots in white t-shirts and kakis during the weekends. Robert was my friend, my coworker, my boss and also my roommate. During the week we made a living by selling mini-donuts. I worked with him for over a year until he had the amazing idea of adding a “new department” to the company: Photos with Mickey Mouse. In order to make money without spending much, he decided to purchase a fake Mickey Mouse costume and I still remember as if it was today, the moment that the damn thing arrived. It came in a huge box, completely covered with strange dark-red stains that looked like dry blood. It was wrinkled, wet and dusty. Like a little kid on Christmas day, he opened the package and grabbed that thing by the ears. An enormous and hairy plastic head that looked like a deformed rat on steroids was the first thing that came out.
-Wait, that's not Mickey!
He looked at me for a second with skepticism but quickly resumed his quest inside the box, smiling and scratching his sweaty forehead while continuing searching inside for the rest. The head was enormous, the suit was made of thin (almost transparent) polyester and the shoes… Well the shoes looked like cowboy boots covered in cheap black plastic wrap. I shook my head in disbelief. I knew. I knew he would make me wear that thing during the day and for my misfortune, in public. I knew he would ask me to dance and sing stupid songs to get the kids attention. I knew it was the end.
What a fucking shame!
A few days later, he hired another guy to work at the donut stand and after a few days of intense and shameful practice sessions, I started impersonating Mickey at public places. I sang and shook my ass all day under a boiling Sun while he chased and harassed everyone on his field of view to sell: A PICTURE WITH MICKEY MOUSE!
Back then I was really thin and that monstrous costume was too big for me, and to make it better, it shined. That thing reflected the Sun. The worst part was not the fact that its head wasn't Mickey Mouse’s or even similar, it was the size. I looked like a mice on a stick and everyone noticed, they all noticed and hated it. I got slapped, kicked, spitted and coursed at. They enjoyed throwing ice cream and even hot coffee on me, but that wasn't the worst part; even though people hated me, for some reason they all wanted a picture with Mickey Mouse's retarded cousin, so I must admit that business was good.
What a disgrace!
One time on an extremely hot day, I took the head off in public to catch my breath. Back then I had long hair and immediately after I took the head off, the people’s reaction wasn't too positive at all. I guess that the “rock and roll” look underneath the mask was completely unexpected. One kid started crying and his mother covered her mouth in disbelief. I could only guess what they were thinking; not only Mickey was a fraud, but now the guy who dresses like him is also Gay? After that episode, I was not allowed to take the mask of in public, so in order to have lunch or drink water, I had to hide in public restrooms.
Business was good!
Finally Friday, and the week was over. It was time to enjoy a hot shower, dress nice, go out and start cheating the tourists by selling them fake silver. I liked that, I must admit that I really did. Well, it was Friday night and while we were selling the "good stuff", we also used to have few beers. Robert preferred local brands and I liked German. After all the humiliation that I had to go through during the week, I wasn't going to allow him to buy me the cheap shit he usually bought. We worked all night selling shiny aluminum rings, I mean silver. On the late hours of every friday night, we took down the table a bit tipsy and went back home richer, at least he did. Once we were back home, I usually turned on the TV and the radio and enjoyed the last few beers. After a heavy week of long working hours, I ended up all burned and really tired and the only thing I wanted was to relax for a while. Robert, in other hand, did not. Everytime we got back home and secured the “expensive jewelry”, he went back outside for a little extra something, you know, something nice to celebrate another good week on business.
Robert loved Coke. And as I mentioned before, not Coke as in the soft drink. The kind he liked, I’m sure wasn't soft at all, or made with corn syrup, it didn’t came with nutrition facts on the side and I’m thankful that the service size wasn’t a can. “Hell's Snow”, “The Lord's dandruff”, “Angel Powder”; It surely has many names but still, is all the same. He used to hide in the bathroom, like I care much. I knew what was going on, I just didn't care. He sniffed that thing so hard that even with the TV and the radio simultaneously on, I could hear him. What a shame. Is a bit sad to admit it, but it also was funny. Like a ritual, after having his nose well powdered, he always came out of the bathroom blinking his eyes like Stephen Hawkins on a lecture, he scratched his nose every five seconds and eventually sat next to me. Robert also liked to talk nonsense when he was on Coke. He could talk nonstop for hours about life, his childhood, a new business idea or his ex-wife, and always invented stories about new women he was supposedly meeting. Pretending to care and to be listening to all that was simply wrong but I had no other choice. During the week I had to deal with all kind of humiliations and when I finally had the time to relax: Did I have to go through all that? Why did I have to listen to all that bullshit?
When he was on Coke, he also had the tendency of touching people awkwardly. Touching a lot, hugging for no reason and it scared me, but after a while, I guess I learned to deal with it. After all, it was just his only way to keep people awake after a back to back story-telling mini marathon of his boring and stupid little life.
Another wasted night. At seven o'clock in the morning the Sun was well placed in the horizon. That served me as an excuse to tell him that I needed to go to sleep. But Robert had a biological timer, and a few minutes before seven in the morning, he usually sniffed and licked the last residues of his 20 dollar bag of Coke. Sometimes after finishing his “powder”, he even dared to chew the small bag like chewing gum. For me it was time to go to bed, unfortunately, after licking and even chewing that thing, I'm affraid it wasn't his. Every single time, while I was on my way to my room, he grabbed me rigidly by my shoulder, drooled a little, and while still trembling and twitching he would say:
-Oye huevón, no te vayas a dormir. Hablemos un poco más! (Hey buddy, don’t go to sleep yet, let’s talk a Little more!)
I must admit that seeing him like that always brought a sense of guiltiness and even envy. Envy because my friend was able to travel around the world spending only 20 dollars. I always wanted to travel, and the idea of doing it without spending too much intrigued me. I always wanted to see the world but I was sure that impersonating Mickey Mouse's retarded cousin wasn't good enough to accomplish it.
Around the world with just 20 dollars?
Tempting..., I thought, but still never tried.
The next Friday, after completing another week of being kicked and slapped, the same routine was about to start all over again. When we arrived to our place, I noticed a small crowd around a black Honda motorcycle with lots of stickers on it. Beautifully adorned with flags from many countries, stickers from sponsors and peace & love symbols; coincidentally, the motorcycle even had Coke stickers. Luckily, this time I’m referring to the soft drink. There was a tall gentleman next to the motorcycle, wearing jeans, black boots and a nice leather jacket. That gentleman was Emilio Scotto, an Argentinean adventurer who traveled the globe, over 172 countries in ten years on the same motorcycle that was parked in front of my house. I had read countless articles about him in newspapers and magazines and for my own luck, his last stop was Café San Telmo, a small bar right in front of our place. I couldn't believe it. The man who started traveling around the world with only $300 dollars and a motorcycle, the man who started an incredible journey exactly ten years before that night, was then ending his celebrated expedition right in front of my house.
I thought about it, but again, I guess I didn't pay too much attention to it. Mr. Emilio Scotto had parked his legendary motorcycle in the same place where my friend Robert used to place his little business table. After imagining many possible scenarios, I thanked God I was wrong. Robert decided to place his table a few meters away from where the adventurer was and I had the great chance to meet him and even chat with him for a couple of minutes.
It was mind blowing!
Like any other Friday night, the same routine. I had to work and then spend some time with my friend drinking beers. As the hours went by, business was slow and he decided to close and enjoy the rest of the night. We went back to our apartment and again, secured the "valuable merchandise". I went back down to have a couple of beers next to a living legend and Robert took his walk as usual. Later that night, Robert came back to find me with a nice looking girl I had just met and he courteously decided not to interrupt me with another all-night-long session of storytelling. Instead, he focused on the lone biker. A few minutes later, Emilio Scotto found himself alone with my dear friend Robert and I clearly knew what was taking place on that table. Robert was talking. He was blinking his eyes like a maniac and scratching his nose as usual. Suddenly, what I had predicted, what I feared the most. The man who traveled the entire planet in ten years, the same who was trying to relax and enjoy a couple of drinks got up. He shook my friend's hand and said goodbye.
I still can't believe what I saw. As soon as Mr. Scotto got up, so did my friend. Still trembling, he grabbed him erratically by his leather covered shoulder, and while attempting to look straight to his eyes, he said:
-Oye huevón, no te vayas a dormir. Hablemos un poco más!
(Hey buddy, don’t go to sleep yet, let’s talk a Little more!)
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If you want to read about Emilio Scotto and his amazing journey around the world,
please visit: http://www.emilioscotto.com/
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