Stupid is as Stupid does

An airtrip to Latvia

LossinRiga05

…So I say

“Shit man. I don’t know but… I feel lost, you know? All these girls here. It’s everywhere you look there’s a hot girl. It tires me out you know. They are there, at arm’s length, sort to speak, but at the same time, they are miles away. Worlds away. It makes me sad, and I start to feel bad about myself, you know…”

Martijn is sitting opposite from me. The small wooden table is on a waited terrace in the middle of the downtown square in Riga, capital of Latvia. More…The weather is great, and the sun is beating down, warming our blood. The beautiful old buildings surrounding us are breathing the heat. Shadows are long, the sky is blue. Hundreds of people stream by at a leisurely pace on every side of the square. Martijn is about to sip his beer when he puts it down to interrupt:

“Hey listen, fuck those bitches man, all of these girls, they are so stuck up…”

Steef is still leaning back in his chair. His legs extended, stretched out comfortably under the table and his hands are folded loosely under his chin. He’s smiling, like he knows something I don’t. As he’s been living and working here in Latvia for nearly a year now, he probably does. Martijn doesn’t continue what sounded like was going to be a rant. He is swaying his head left to right, angrily, dumbfounded almost, when Steef fills in. From his leant back position Steef quietly remarks:

“I know it seems incredible man, but take a closer look…”

His quasi-wise posture and the tone of his voice jolt my brain into action. Back into smart mode. I immediately know what he means. What I had seen was not pretty at all, but I had kept the thought private, wondering whether it was true or just my way of dealing with rejection. Neither would have pleased me. I meet Steef’s eye, or rather his sunglasses and say:

“Yeah I saw that. I took a closer look. It’s the hair that gives ‘em away. It’s not just that it’s all dyed, and dyed poorly, like a hooker’s paintjob, but take one good look and you’ll see that all of these girls, their hair, it’s combed into perfection. Completely groomed. They must’ve spent hours in front of the mirror getting their looks like they do. Every fucking day, hours spent in front of the mirror. Imagine that. Imagine the sort of character that cares so much about something so trivial. They must be the dumbest bitches alive.”

Steef nods in agreement. Martijn is still swaying his head, but rather less violent than before. The force of the jolting is now in his voice, which skips from highs to lows in his exasperation. He obviously agrees as well and says:

“You seen any of them smile?! Or laugh out loud? These people, all of them, they don’t laugh! I mean how fucked up is that. No one is laughing!”

Steef turns his head away from Martijn’s direction. Like he is distracted by something. With an air of disinterest he smartly remarks the obvious

“Would you laugh if you’d make under 350 euro a month?”

As I have a romantic vision of travel, I can’t let that slide. And I know Steef doesn’t believe that himself. Even if the logic works. I don’t wait for Martijn’s reply.

“Ahw fuck that man, there’s loads of countries where they don’t make shit but they at least love life, you know, they have fun regardless.”

“Dude these people hate being here!”

“But they hate tourists too. I mean, here you are, you are part of the EU, you have loads of opportunities, you can make it happen for yourself and what do you do? You fucking spend all of the little money you have on clothes and beauty products. Then you strut around town pretending to be a supermodel and you don’t ever laugh cuz supermodels don’t laugh and that is it. You spend whatever money you have left on a single cocktail shared three ways or some shit and that’s it, that’s your night out, your big day. That’s the highlight…”

I was going strong here, really feeling it too, but Martijn drops in with a lot of speed. He’s as pissed about it as I am, or maybe even more so and throws his piece in:

“…That’s right! That’s their life and they blame everyone but themselves man. That’s why they are so angry. I guess now it’s the trend to blame the tourists for their shitty existences. Blame it all on everyone but yourself. That’s why they don’t laugh…”

In the mean time I see yet another beautiful Latvian girl walk by. My heart, if that’s what you can call it, melts. I really want her. Or any girl that good-looking. I envy the guy that will be fucking her, no doubt, somewhere within the coming week, whoever he may be. Thinking about that it churns my guts again, and that’s what’s been wearing me out in the first place. Tiredly I fall in with Martijn, turning my head back to the conversation but still following that beautiful figure with eyes hidden behind expensive shades.

“Ahw but still man, they are real, real hot… some of them, goddamn! It makes me sad to think that here they are, so close, but if I make the effort to walk up and talk to them I get served off as being some dumb tourist out looking for ass. Which is true of course, but it’s like I’ve always been saying: I am not trying to steal something here you know, I am not hurting them or whatever. I’m just out looking for a good time and what the hell is wrong with that?”

But Steef knows me better than that. He starts laughing:

“haha you upset that they don’t just throw themselves at you since you are the exotic and potentially rich Westerner?”

And I can only admit

“Fuck yeah I am! You know what, with all due respect, which isn’t that much to begin with, take a look at these guys here. The men. The local Latvian men. Have you ever seen a sadder bunch of losers in your fucking life? They are falling over themselves trying to look all cool and tough and shit, but the sheer stupidity just radiates from their faces man.”

Then Martijn has some knowledge which he needs to share.

“I think Russians, or Slavic people, the way their culture works, they don’t have such a thing as self-mockery…”

I grab Martijn’s knowledge by the throat. No self mockery? No doubting yourself? This is one of my high horses. I’ll damn well climb on it.

“Shit man, self-mockery is the defining thing. You don’t have that, you can’t make yourself relative, you might as well be a monkey. A fucking amoeba.”

Martijn agrees and continues:

“Seriously, in Russia, if you’re a big guy you say: “I’m a big guy”. You say it a lot, you make sure everyone hears it and you behave accordingly. Even if you are a criminal, you behave according to a predictable pattern or something. And if you joke about you being small time when you are big, well, they take that literally there: people’ll lose their respect for you. You’ll become smart time if you do that too often. There, you behave predictable, almost as if that society governs even the would-be behaviour of a derelict or a crazy streetwalker. Fit in, play your part, regardless of whatever that part may be.”

While Martijn is talking I can see them in my minds eye. The Russians. Idiots. Smart enough to build an atomic bomb and stupid enough to use it. An average Russian may be a genius, like a Dostoyevsky or them chess players or whoever put Jury Gagarin into space, but the lot of them together, something goes wrong there. So Martijn is on to something. I try to follow him:

“Yeah well all these girls are playing a part too and it’s pissing me off. I don’t know, but they seem to have decided for themselves which part they want to play and they play it, without irony, without any self-doubt, without thinking almost, like an automaton filling the space their surroundings allow them. They seem to accept everything. Even if it is their part not to conform, to be a criminal or a mobster or a money man or a hot chick… I don’t mean they get pushed around like they are completely docile, but they accept the part they are dealt, the part they are supposed to play, without wondering, well, who they really are. Without stopping to think what it is they are doing, and why…Which explains why they don’t laugh. You wouldn’t on 350 a month, sure, but neither would you laugh if you believe in it all. If it is all serious business.”

I am about to go on when Steef butts in. He’s holding his phone, obviously reading some text message he just got.

“Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy…”

He says

“This is that one girl we saw earlier at the restaurant. That ex colleague of mine, the stewardess. She’s wondering if we are gonna go party tonight.”

“Well of course we are”

*************************

Steef is standing in the middle of the room. He’s wearing an army cap and slacks, and a T shirt that’s a little big to big for him. Flipflops on his feet and his shades on a rope hanging from his neck. His arms are folded, his head tilted, and he’s smiling the dirty smile, the one in which you don’t breathe and suck in your lips. He exhales. pauses

“So how was she?”

He asks.

“haha a lot of fun. Yeah, she was cool…”

“So where the fuck did you head off to.”

“We went to her place, she is a student of aeronautic engineering if you fucking believe me or not, and she lives at this campus somewhere called Mechaland, or I mean that’s what she called it…It’s a technical faculty. Place looks like people left it after a war and only just came back. Lot of cars though.”

Martijn is sitting on his bed. He’s wearing his glasses and some white briefs. He has an odd way of sitting, a little bit slouchy, shoulders folding inwary, head tilting forward. Probably too many years of desk work. Curious, he asks:

“Who was she anyway?”

“Well, I went into that joint and I was not giving a fuck anymore. I had gone through the whole deal, yeah, I mean all these pretty Latvian girls everywhere but not a smile, not a single glance, I was on the point of just getting stressed out about it. And then I figured: fuck it okay, I’ll just have a laugh and be happy that I can, as opposed to all these idiots here. You know, what we’ve been talking about. So I mean the DJ was playing hard, real good that guy, and I was rocking the floor. I can’t dance for shit as you well know, but I was having fun jumping around and then I saw her: a Latvian girl, but not one of those picture perfect pretty dolls, hot though, but in a non-groomed way. So I gave her a look and she looked back or whatever. Anyway she was doing her thing, I was doing mine…”

Steef can’t resist:

“Haha and then you decided to do the nasty thing together…”

I saw that one coming though, and continue:

“…Well funny thing man, cuz we ended up sitting at the bar and there was this group of guys in, I mean they looked like a family group or something, some guys older with their wives, some younger cats and this one six-foot-tall big-titties-curly-hair-bitch, yeah, and they were bored.But this girl man, she was not having that. She was like let’s party these fuckers up. Now you don’t need to ask me to behave like an idiot, I’m game whatever so yeah, we made this circle with these cats and danced with them and shit…”

“…yeah I saw you going, dancing like you were wearin’ some red dancing shoes…”

“Man I was so done with the whole no-smiling business I was fuck it. Funniest shit though. So the girl, the fun one, she goes take a piss right, and as soon as she’s gone the tall big-tits bitch walks up, pulls me in the middle of the dancing circle and starts dancing with me. I mean my head is right there in her cleavage, he shaking and grabbing and it’s clear, she’s ready to go.”

Martijn smiles and says:

“So you got served with what you’ve been obsessing about: a hot dumb Latvian girl?”

I sigh. The truth of it is annoying. It’s a fundamental one, and one that I hate.

“Man, it’s like I always say: you want something, real bad, only way you’ll get it is by not wanting it anymore…”

Steef looks fuzzy when he asks:

“Wait, you went home with the first girl right?”

“Yeah man, that’s exactly what I mean. I was so fucking over the whole be-hot v.s. be-cool vibe, and here was one of these airheads on the one side, big tits and all but stupid, and this fun chick on the other, I almost got angry with it! I was going to make a statement. There was no way I was gonna go with the tall big-titty bitch, the hot Latvian airhead. No, I was going home with my fungirl man! So I did.

Anyway, what happened with you and that one girl? The stewardess? “

Steef’s folded arms drop. So does his head. He answers:

“Man…”

“Shit Steef, my lord she was so hot!”

Back upright now, Steef looks away when he says:

“Let’s just say: It Didn’t Click…”

“Didn’t click? What the fuck are you talking about it didn’t click. It’s a girl, not a fucking mousepad!”

At this, Martijn starts laughing his ass off so hard he falls over on his bed. I laugh with him and grill Steef some more before I realise Martijn is in fact laughing at me.

“Hahaha Jesus Christ Gijs, have you been listening to even a word you’ve been saying yourself?”

I stop laughing. Uncomprehendingly, I stare at the fucker. I have no clue what he is babbling about.

“What the fuck do you mean by that man…”

“Haha shit. I guess not. Unbelievable haha. Never mind man hahaha…”

I am annoyed, but let go. Martijn keeps laughing. Turning back to Steef I say:

“Now for real Steef, you know you gotta get with this one, ey? She’s so fine. No matter if she’s stupid man…who cares, yeah? You got her number, I trust?”