I am sitting outside of the school director’s office, one of these uncomfortable plastic chairs the students probably are used to. This British language institute isn’t one of the more famous ones. I found out about it from some ads I saw online, sent an email, and am now hopefully going to get my next job.
It is just my third day in Buenos Aires. A few days in Santiago and I thought, This city is too all over the place for me. I have to get out. A few days in the Southern Cone and I thought, This part of the world is just too cold for me. I flew all the way to the other side of Latin America because I wanted something different, but not in terms of temperature. A few days in Buenos Aires, and I’ve thought, Beautiful buildings everywhere, something that finally reminds me of what I bet the architecture of Spain or Italy would be like. The weather’s a little chilly, but not too bad, typical autumn fare. The wind picks up because there are tall and elegant buildings directing it to its lanes.
As for the people, they’re not always the nicest behaving. Most Argentinians are very white. I have the feeling that they see a person of colour and wonder if I’m out to steal something. Or maybe they are too busy to act nice. Buenos Aires seems like one of those cities in which life takes on the appearance of quickness. I say “the appearance” because even though everyone is running about, I also get the sense that they really don’t have that much going on at all. It’s like their empanadas—the steam runs out quick, but the flavour inside remains soggy for hours.
It’s been about fifteen minutes, past nine, the hour of our appointment. When is the director going to call me in for the interview?
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