My Latin Wife... A Fantasy Born Ch. 01-08bynewbie2008©
(Chapters 1-8 of 23)
Chapter I: Needing to Break Free
Not to sound condescending to my Latin heritage or any Latin heritage, but many Colombians and Brazilians do not look Latin in decent, having lots European influx to the continent over the centuries. I felt compelled to mention that because I am Colombian and my wife is Brazilian, and we don't, as most people think Latins do, look Mexican. In fact, we usually find ourselves hearing, "Bullshit, you're from where?" Especially when they see my wife's deep blue eyes.
Again, Please do not mistake my intention in that explanation. I know it sounds as though I am knocking Mexican people and I swear I am not. I don't at all want to sound negative to any ethnicity, it's just that my wife and I both sometimes get very bazaar looks when we tell people we were born and raised in South America. My Grandfather was from Austria, and Maria's mother was from Denmark originally, then moving to Brazil to Marry her father, who himself was half European in decent.
My wife being from Brazil could walk the streets of New York, and you'd swear she was just an amazing looking, although with a beautiful bronzed complexion, a hot woman from Iowa. I do sometimes tease her for her incredible Brazilian body though. My wife was graced with the prettiest smile, complexion, legs, and ass, incredible hazel eyes, God ever bestowed upon a woman. It must be said, many Brazilian women, even with a small amount of Brazilian heritage, are breath taking, of that, there is no doubt.
Growing up in Latin "South" America usually makes one truly appreciate the United States, indeed my wife and I are two of them. And, no, we didn't swim the Rio-Grand or hire a human smuggler. My wife and I did it the hard way, and funny how, "legally," truly is the hard way. It took a long time to get here legally, but it was worth every minute. We love this country dearly. Truth be told, we probably love this country more than any hundred people born here combined because we had to fight so hard to get here.
Typically from the time you can speak in most South American countries, you yearn for something better, that is, if your parents yearn for the same thing. My sister and I were lucky enough to have said parents. They only wanted to see us have it better then they did.
Neither of my loving parents were very educated, but insisted that their children get the best Columbia had to offer, or that they could afford, which wasn't the best by most standards. But, it was an education. To this day I tell people I graduated from Columbia University with a Masters in Hospitality Management, and they all naturally assume I mean "The other Columbia University. The U.S. Columbia University."
My sister and I both graduated with Masters Degrees in Business Management, in which our focus was hospitality management. My sister later moved from Columbia to Brazil, to help manage a very well know resort property in Rio. Me? I didn't have the same luck.
However, I did have a friend who graduated a year ahead of me, one who landed a great job in Mexico helping run an amazing resort property there. I was constantly in contact with him before graduation, asking if he had anything open that I could start in, entry level was fine with me, anything. Just getting out of Columbia was not only a parents dream, It was mine as well. Every day, I looked at my tired fathers face when he got home from work, and knew I had to justify their hard work and love by making something of myself.
For months I kept after my friend, asking him for anything, as my other prospects dried up shortly after applying. Not wanting to tag along with my sister and take a shift supervisor job at the establishment working under her, I decided to go north. Yes, I could have went to work for my sister, but think about it. How amazing would that be? Big sister bossed me around all my life growing up.
Moving to Mexico to live with my best friend seemed like more than a job hunt, it was my liberation. Just taking off on the aircraft made me feel as though I had escaped from nothingness. It also was the proudest day of my parents lives seeing their last child fly off to something better.
Little did they know, I wasn't flying off like my sister did, to a great position. It was the first time in my life I had actually lied to my parents. They thought I had a management position lined up with my friend, but I didn't. However, my confidence level was escalated to the point that I just knew it was okay. Much can be said for seriously high levels of enthusiasm and optimism.
My friend "Miggs" as I called him, had a great fast track position, but I learned quickly that friend or not, if there was no positions at his employer, there was no position. My enthusiasm continued though, not dwelling on what I couldn't have, but what I could, what I brought to the table, my hopes, my dreams, and an education.
Immediately upon arrival, I applied to so very many properties up and down the coast, sometimes unknowingly applying to properties owned by the same group, all without so much as a call. I had sold everything I owned to get to Mexico and my worst fear was that I wouldn't have enough to support myself during my search.
My friend told me not to worry, but I did. I didn't want to have such a good friend support me, or basically feed me when I ran out of funds. It was almost like swimming off the beach into the ocean. You must save enough strength to swim back, or you'll die. When I started this trip, I swam so hard from the beach, but would have rather died than swim back to shore, to Columbia.
After an evening of trying to cheer me up, drinking, and listening to his girlfriend yammer her ass off all night, she finally said something that actually caught my attention. She began saying "He should try the %%%%% property (cannot name for obvious reasons), I know they have an Operations Management position that's open. Marcella's husband got fired from there last month because they thought he was allowing the bar staff to sell drugs."
Given the source? I instantly envisioned a flop house with fans in the windows, two locals asleep on a wooden front porch, dogs in the lobby, and a guy swatting flies at the front desk, the worst possible establishment. My buddies girlfriend and her acquaintances were not the most desirable people. My friend even admitted it on occasion, but hey, she was indeed hot.
In fact, my friend was only attracted to her because she was the spitting image of a famous, nice assed, Latin American singer / actress known as Jalo. God love him, she was only attracted to anyone with a good job, a nice car, and living in a nice apartment. My Buddy worked hard to have all those things. Good for them, I mean him, as she was always looking for a bigger better deal.
Either way, I had nothing, and wasn't about to live off his hospitality indefinitely. The very next morning, at 4:50 AM, I woke tossing and turning, thinking "There's no way I'll be able to go back to sleep. So Just get your ass up, and walk to that Resort. Get a fucking job, and support yourself."
Up I sprung. It was now a mission. I declared that any job was a job at this point. I was showered, dressed, and ready at 5:10 AM as I walked to the front porch of Miggs apartment. The smell of the foggy, salty, morning ocean air gave me new hope. I then began my walk thinking a myriad of things, mostly how my family was doing and how much I missed them.
Chapter II: My Rude Awakening
At around 6:00 AM, I finally arrived at this palatial property. My visions of a flop house were quickly shattered by the fact that it was even nicer that my buddies place of employment. I didn't even try this place because it was owned by a sister company that I had already applied to when I first arrived, figuring they had my application on file, and well, if they wanted me, they'd call me.
Upon arrival, I knew I was entirely too early to apply, there was no way the management staff or human resources department would be in at 6:00 AM. I was so very quiet as I walked into the pool area, slowly closing the metal gate behind me. The smell of chlorine, suntan lotion, and wisps of ocean air gave me even more butterflies in my stomach, as I imagined getting a job, any job.
For almost an hour I sat on the end of a lounge chair and looked out at the ocean by the pool deck, wondering how my parents were doing, how my sister was, when abruptly, someone shouted in Spanish "Are you a guest?"
It must have been comical how instantly and panicked I jumped. After gaining a semblance of composure, I quickly turned and replied in Spanish "No, I am just here to apply for a job."
Now let me tell you, I got a quick education, A.K.A rude awakening, on how scarce jobs were in this city. As it turned out, he was the Maintenance Supervisor for the entire property, and deeply hated those he thought were beneath him, you know? The jobless types? Like me?
Although I certainly didn't look the drifter part, wearing nice cloths, I could tell he had marked me as a lower than life pile of dirt. His expression as he glared at me in disgust, said volumes. I figured he must have had a family member who got refused for employment at this establishment, or a similar bad experience, so he decided to take it out on me.
With my courteous reply and demeanor, explaining my employment desires, you'd figure I'd get a similar retort, but let me tell you. He angrily shouted back in Spanish "Then get the fuck off this property. You don't belong here." But, before he turned and walked away he murmured in piss poor English, thinking I was only Spanish speaking, "More fucking street trash in cheap cloths."
As much as I wanted this job? I instantly let my emotions get the best of me. I figured at that very moment he insulted me, my parents, my sister, and any other educated, desperate, South American trying to make their honest way in the world. To be blunt? Once words formulated in my now insanely angry brain, I said in my mind "Fuck the job." I was seeing red only.
Thank God my parents raised my sister and I on the wonderful English language, almost as our primary language, because I was about to use it like a battle tank, and with very little accent. I wanted him to know it was him that was beneath someone. God knows how many good people he had emotionally destroyed who tried to apply for a job at this gorgeous place.
Still seeing red, I shouted back in English "You! Yes, You, you ignorant fuck! Don't you walk away from me. I am here for the Operations Management position posted by this establishment. I am not street trash as you so UN-educability put it in your attempt at the English language. I have a Bachelors Degrees in Business Management and a Masters Degree in Business Administration and Hospitality Management, and am In every way, utterly, over qualified for this position. You Sir, better hope that I am NOT! Gainfully employed by this institution, as you will promptly find your pathetic ass on the street, and one of those poor unfortunate souls you described as what? Street Trash? Do you understand me? And don't ever try to reply in English because you can barely speak the beautiful language with your fucking pathetic Mexican accent, and your twenty word vocabulary."
Now, I am here to tell you, my left finally brain kicked back in after the last word left my mouth thinking "Dam you don't want to spend even a second in a Mexican jail, but with a single call? You're likely to."
Just as I was about to simply walk away, and back to my buddies apartment, he looked as if he had seen the Mother Mary as I walked past him. He then replied in stuttered Spanish "Sa, Sir please, please, I apologize. Please, forgive me. Please forgive me. I was not aware who you were, why you were here. I do apologize. Please allow me to take you to the... to the hiring managers office. Please allow me to do this for you. They will not be here for a while, but I can have someone bring you coffee, while you wait."
I realize this sounds completely bipolar, but my anger faded instantly. I began to feel profoundly sorry for him. The only thing I replied was, "Just please take to me their office. Thank you, but I will wait for the Manager, no need for coffee. I apologize for my outburst." The entire situation had him a shaking, nervous wreck. Little did he know, I had become shook by the entire event as well.
He finally took me the long way around, continually apologizing the entire way as we walked to the management office. Upon arriving, he had already used a walkie-talkie twice to get me coffee and muffins brought to the waiting area.
I had never felt so guilty about putting someone in their place in my life, because in the end? It was just an over inflated bluff. He could have maintained his position and kicked me off the property, or worse, had me arrested. But that aside, he really seemed like a pathetic, angry, regretful, wasted life type man, one who wanted to take his frustration out on anyone weaker, or defenseless. I could only imagine what those working under him had to go through on a daily basis.
My bluff? First, no one was expecting me what so ever, especially a Human Resources official. Second? I was as likely to be offered a pool man job under this guy, as I was an Operations management position. More likely though? I would probably be offered a stern "Get the fuck off this property you dirt bag," with that guy laughing his ass off.
Chapter III: Meeting My Future Wife
He eventually left me as he apologized once again for an additional few seconds, and there I sat, wondering how on earth I'd now bluff the hiring manager / director into even listening to me. At around 7:30 AM, I began going over my transcripts and resume once more when suddenly I began to hear the unmistakable sound of a woman's heels walking and echoing down the corridor about twenty feet down and to the right. The marble halls and floor made it sound like an echo chamber.
Upon hearing it, I nervously trained my eyes towards the corner of the hallway. I began to imagine a mid fifties, pissed off at the world, man hater, type woman, possibly even that guys wife. But, allow me to tell you, she was not at all. As she rounded the corner I was utterly floored. She was astonishingly beautiful in every measure. She was breathtaking head to toe.
As she walked, I instantly took in her beautifully shiny, smooth, and bronzed legs, her unbelievable shape, her small waist, her curved hips, and her amazing breasts. Her amazing perky breasts squeezed inside her bra underneath an almost see through white lacy top in such a way, I was in utter awe. Not that I have a foot fetish at all, but even her feet and toes were beautiful. Now, there are many beautiful women in Columbia, but she topped any list I had ever seen. In fact, there would have to be an entirely new list for a woman of her beauty.
Just as I was about to open my mouth, frozen with fear and awe, fumbling with my resume, about to drop my transcripts, she asked in Spanish "Are you here to see Mrs. Santos?"
I quickly replied stuttering, "Yes, Mrs. Santos. Yes indeed, I am here to see, Mrs. Santos, that's the one, Santos."
Apparently, I was there to see who ever Mrs. Santos was, but utterly did not have an appointment. Which, yes, was her second question to me. I think she already before asking, because my train wreck nervous demeanor, that I didn't have an appointment, and had no clue who Mrs. Santos was.
In my panic I replied "Actually, Well, regarding Mrs. Santos? I. Well, she... You know...! I was only referred by a friend who is the Operations Manager at %%%% property. He said that there was, possibly, an Operations Managers position here, and that I need to be here first thing this morning?"
She sweetly giggled over my nervousness and said "Okay. I'm glad we got that out of the way. Yes, indeed, there is an opening. I must warn you though, and possibly save you some time, Mrs. Santos? She requires at least four years of university level management education in business related studies. The other applicants up to this point have had experience, but not the educational requirement. She's very adamant about that. I know, I'm her Admin Assistant. She keeps barking at me to go to college."
To my incredible relief, that seemed the one thing I did have, even more than asked for. She then offered me to come into the inner office waiting area with her. I quickly and graciously agreed. As she helped me grab the coffee decanter, cups, and muffins the maintenance supervisor had delivered, we began small talking a bit. We began finding out about one other, where I was from, where she was from, how we got to where we were, etc. She seemed quite impressed with my education, but seemed more impressed with my bravery, for just striking out to Mexico with nothing lined up.
For a few minutes, I forgot why I was even there. I was awe struck with her in every way. Everyone knows that feeling when someone is interested in you? The one where you both are very much into the conversation? The looks? The overall feeling of the moment? I had that, and I could tell she did too.
I am not Don Juan by any means, but I have always been told that I am a very handsome Colombian man. But, on the same token, I'm sure everyone at one time or another has had that feeling of, "God, She's too good for me." I very powerfully had it. I was amazed she didn't have a wedding ring on. I was equally amazed that she would still in Mexico. Any! And I do mean any! Rich, single American or Canadian man, in his right mind, would have tried his best, to scoop her up and take her out of here.
Just as we were engrossed into one another, the door slowly opened, and a short, mid-fifties woman came in with an angry look carrying folders. Yes... My original vision eerily came to life.
She instantly put her hand out saying "I'm Mrs. Santos. You are?"
Instantly, I realized she had no idea who I was. For all she knew I was already with Corporate and was there to check up on her. I quickly, and humbly replied in English, to let her know I was bi-lingual, "Good morning Mrs. Santos, I am Miguel. I am here to inquire about the Operations managers position that I heard was still open at this beautiful establishment."
Instantly, her mood changed to boss lady. However, she reluctantly offered me an on the spot interview at the bequest of Maria, her assistant. After at least an hour into the interview, realizing I met twice her educational requirements, and that I wasn't a con artist drifter, her mood immediately changed for the positive. I also realized that I had a great benefit. At least three times she said I reminded her of her son. That was music to my ears. Most of the interview was, her asking me about my life, my family, my sister, and such. She somehow saw my adventure as something admirable, and realized I came from a proud family who insisted their children make it in life.
Upon finding out what my sister and I went through to get through college, the sacrifices my parents had made, where my sister now worked, my education level, and my risk in striking out for Mexico without a job? At the end of the interview, she picked up the phone, looked straight at me expressionless and said, "I need to have maintenance come down to my office with a digital camera. We have finally filled the Ops Manager Position and need to get a photo ID made." Elation doesn't even do my emotion justice at the moment.
I rose in my chair and stuck my hand out to shake hers, but something inside me made me want to walk around her desk and hug her. As I did, she held onto me for a few seconds more than I was prepared for. Where ever her beloved son was? I knew she missed him severely, and that she was, seemingly, giving him a surrogate hug through me. I can't swear to it, but it almost appeared that her eyes became teary. She took a motherly role with me almost immediately.