By Chris Sarcletti
City: Rome
It was the second to last night on our ten day Italian excursion and we were rearing to go. How we met this guy, who will remain nameless because I don’t remember his name, is beyond me. All I remember is returning from the bathroom in a small Italian bar in Rome and finding Mike conversing with some interesting looking guy. The first thing I wondered is why the hell he wasn’t talking to two of the many gorgeous girls in this dungeonesque bar. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that neither of us spoke Italian. Well, there’s no use in recanting on what might have been. Instead of the company of two Italian beauties, we sat in this dark and dingy pub with a Canadian baker. Yes, this man baked bread and pastries for a living. To be honest, I cannot say I had ever met a baker before. While I did find his profession to be interesting, it was this character’s bold and brash personality that really drew me in. This man (I really wish I knew his name because you will here the term “this man” a lot) had been living in Rome for 12 years and had adopted the entire Roman culture, both good and bad. After a few beers, he proceeded to tell me that he pushes drugs, in addition to bread, outside the back door of his bakery. I really don’t know why he thought he needed to share this with us but I found it interesting and somewhat amusing that he was so frank about revealing his 2nd profession. It was almost as if I didn’t know whether the slight discomfort I felt was telling me to walk away or ask more questions. I found it even more amusing and surprising that this guy, for some reason I will never understand, thought that I might be able to help him expand his entrepreneurial venture in some way in the United States. I had to laugh to myself when he brought that topic up. I really didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to be assisting anyone anywhere with the drug trade, but I also didn’t want to come off as a ‘high and mighty’ American who was taken back by his overtures. I just acted like I really didn’t understand what he was talking about and moved onto another subject, assuming we would be out of the bar and finished with our conversation soon enough. Well, that didn’t exactly happen. We continued to drink for a couple hours in the company of this gentleman. Actually, he was entertaining and seemed to be a somewhat decent guy. For Mike and I, we were kind of enjoying just hanging out with a local Roman and asking about the city and trying to get an understanding of what it is like to live in Rome. Anyway, we were enjoying ourselves enough that we responded affirmatively when the baker suggested that we head to another bar. I think both Mike and I kind of took a ‘What the Hell?’ approach to the evening and decided to see where the night would take us. I had some reservations about hanging out with this guy but I also think we wanted a bit of an adventure.
What we didn’t know is that we would be driving to the next bar. Given the fact that we had all been drinking for a while and non e of us really had any business driving, things got interesting very quickly. After all, Mike and I were going to be operating any kind of vehicle.
Anyway, we all climbed into this baker’s new car, which he was extremely proud of, and got ready to make the move to another bar. Remember those two words, got ready. We weren’t moving anywhere yet. First, we had to share a joint with the baker. It was his request and obviously his supply. Well, I guess we didn’t have to share the joint, but then again we didn’t want to offend our host. Besides, he was driving and we figured that an Italian joint (half marijuana, half tobacco) wouldn’t harm us too badly. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t a good idea to sit in a parked car smoking pot in a country your visiting and which you definitely don’t speak the language. Who am I kidding? It’s a terrible fucking idea. After about 10 minutes of smoking, the baker told us he was pretty stoked (I’m sure he didn’t use that word but I kind of like it) and asked Mike if he wanted to drive. That was really funny. In fact, it was so funny that I started to laugh to myself like an idiot in the backseat. See, not only did this guy have a brand new car, but Mike didn’t know how to drive stick shift and he was both drunk and stoned. Oh, and I forgot to mention that it’s a big stretch to call the movement of cars on the streets of Rome driving. It’s more like a game of Frogger for everyone involved. Quite dangerous for someone that doesn’t live there. After a brief discussion concerning who would man the wheel, the baker drove. No, neither Mike nor I are stupid enough to get behind the wheel under the influence in another country. I guess we were only stupid enough to let a guy drive whose drunk and stoned and who deals drugs out of a bakery. I guess you only live once.
Watching this maniac navigate the streets of Rome at 3 AM was quite a treat. No recognition of speed limits or pedestrians, bikers or mopeds. I think this guy’s perspective on driving was pretty much “Fuck It”. Somehow we did make it to this bar. Someone’s looking out for us I guess. The bar was quite neat with a relatively friendly bartender. Soon after we ordered our first round of drinks, we struck up a conversation with an American girl who was currently working in the U.S. embassy in Rome. She was very friendly and quite interesting and if I remember, halfway attractive. On second thought, maybe she was only moderately attractive as I did have quite a few drinks in addition to the smoke. Nonetheless, women, beautiful, mildly attractive or not so attractive at all, always appear a bit more attractive to a man who has consumed a few alcoholic beverages. It’s putting it mildly to say that are Canadian friend took a strong interest in this girl. It became quite obvious that he had picked up the very Italian trait of staring at women and pursuing them physically whether they are interested or not. Unquestionably, he was too attentive to this girl. He showed this by touching her hand, shoulder, leg, and arm. Nothing too bad but enough to be distracting to her and make us feel a bit uncomfortable. Needless to say, this guy was a class act. As we found out when the baker took a well timed excursion to the bathroom, this girl had been in Italy for almost 2 years and she was quite used to the “style” of Italian men. She usually told the guys to get lost, but was enjoying our company and he happened to be with us. While he was in the bathroom, she did pose this question, “What the hell are two seemingly nice guys like you doing with this guy?” She was surprised. The first thing that popped into my mind is that maybe were not that nice. Especially if you’re present company is any indication.
Let’s not get too deep. We didn’t know what the hell to do. This guy was driving us and we were in the middle of a huge city that we knew little about. Despite the fact that the baker had more than a few issues, we didn’t want to be ignorant and leave him. Those are probably my thoughts, not Mikes. I don’t know why the hell I should care how some guy I’ll definitely never see again feels but I guess that’s just me. To complicate the situation further, I think this girl was interested in me. After the baker got even more rowdy, the level of uncomfortableness rose to a point I really didn’t hope it would ascend to. Everyone began to get very quiet and even the bartender gave the guy a look indicating that he was out of line. Luckily, the baker got the point and said that he was ready to head home. He didn’t bother asking us if we wanted a ride and neither did we. At that point and after what we’d been through, we figured that was the least of our problems. We decided to stay for another drink and opt for a cab if we could find one at that time of the night (actually morning). To say the least, everyone felt much more comfortable. After another drink, we shared a cab to the embassy first and our hotel second. When we arrived at the embassy, Mike waited in the car and I got out since this girl wanted to give me a more intimate goodbye than the one Mike received. To be honest, Mike and I were both really drunk and getting out of the cab and standing was a chore. I couldn’t say no though.
Standing on a street outside the U.S. embassy in Rome, Italy, this girl put a piece of paper with her phone number on it in my hand and kissed me on the lips. With only 1 day left in Rome, the phone number probably wouldn’t get used. However, a kiss from a girl, any girl, always warms the heart and was a fitting end to a very long, arduous and very interesting night.
