Virtue Signaling from the End of the World (Part 3 of 4)
In the company we keep, we see ourselves reflected.
It’s been a few weeks. Catch up on how I met the Italian in Part 1 and how things started to go off the rails in Part 2. Footnotes are at the bottom, for some added flavor.
Day 152
The next morning, I decided to “grey rock” the Italian. My goal was to become so boring that he would lose interest and leave me alone. My plan would be unsuccessful.
He found me at breakfast. The Italian wanted to hang out, again, and was creepily insistent. He invited me to join him at a resort spa just outside the city. I respectfully declined. In addition to not wanting to spend time with him, I had errands to attend. I was dangerously low on cash, and I needed to book my flights north. But the Italian was undeterred. He suggested he join me on the walk through the city. Fine, whatever, I would be a grey rock.
I walked 2 miles to the bank, the Italian in tow. He was getting comfortable, and loose with his words. Even sober, he was loud and vulgar. I grey rocked him the entire walk, giving monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation, not offering any opinions of my own, and avoiding eye contact. I am a Seattleite, I can passive-aggressive with the best of them. I withdrew my money and went to a café; the Italian followed. I decided to wait in the café, steadfastly ignoring the Italian for as long as it took until he left.
Photo: Walking along Av. San Martin in Ushuaia.
Over an hour passed before I was finally, gloriously alone.
As I sorted through my finances and flight options, I considered the Italian. What was up with this guy? I reviewed what little I knew about him: he was from rural northern Italy; he could be funny; he had good taste in food and bad taste in museums; his politics leaned conspiratorial; he disliked the city of Milan; he was a homophobe and a misogynist. But why would he not leave me alone? Could he not take a hint? We were both booked for another two nights at our hostel. It was inevitable that we would see each other again. What might his next outburst look like? Was there a risk of him getting physical in the event of a confrontation? I decided to stay the course with my grey rock strategy.
In retrospect, grey rocking was the wrong approach. I had been using the same strategy after each conversational red flag. But while briefly acknowledging and rebutting his sexism, homophobia, and conspiracy theories had worked to shift the conversation in the moment, he somehow always brought the conversation back to another of his unsavory views. Knowing now how bad his behavior would become, I should have been more assertive. I should have already shut him down. But I didn’t put all this together until after the fact. In the moment, I wanted to believe that maybe I could change his views through dialogue, that I could change his behavior by showing him when he went too far. I was wrong.
Back at the Antarctica later that night, the Italian insisted we again go out to dinner. He bulldozed over my excuses, and, against my better judgment, I acquiesced, rationalizing. What was the worst that could happen? He would be gone soon, and I would never see him again. Perhaps at this dinner he would behave? But I was wary. I decided to remain sober that evening, the first such night in quite a while. I needed to be alert.
The Italian chose an all-you-can-eat steakhouse for what would be our final dinner. The feast was delicious; Argentinian grills live up to their reputation.[1] I drank water, he drank beer. As dreaded, the conversation devolved. After some normal small talk, he asked me if I had heard of chemtrails, and if I thought the government controlled the weather. Red Flag #5. I had heard of chemtrails. It is one of those deep internet conspiracy theories. This, in addition to the earlier “9/11 was an inside job” conversation, was sufficient evidence for me to conclude that this man’s mind was not grounded in what I consider reality. Breaking from my grey rock strategy, I engaged to rebut and dismiss the topic. No, the government does not control the weather. The idea is absurd, I told him. He was disappointed in my response, but I had engaged. A small victory for the Italian.
The conversation shifted to something about race in America, I forget what.[2] It doesn’t matter. What matters is he said the n-word, twice, in quick succession, the word casually falling from his lips. Red Flag #6. I did the classic white person double take, quickly scanning the entire restaurant. There were zero Black people. All the other diners continued as normal; no one had heard but me. Ok, but how to respond? I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation about the appropriateness of the n-word. I told him, unequivocally, that you do not say that word. This was beyond any English-as-a-second-language confusion. He acted offended, gaslighting. He said that that is how they joke in Italy, and that Americans are so sensitive. I said that didn’t matter, and that he must not say that word. It was the same call and response after he had used the gay slur at the previous dinner. I was angry. I should have got up and left on the spot. But I was also more than a little scared. Who was this man? We had spent hours talking, but how long does it take to truly know someone? How dedicated to these beliefs was he? What was he capable of? I grey rocked the rest of the dinner and got back to the Antarctica as quickly as possible.
[1] My first experience with a proper Argentinian grill was in Jujuy, in the far north of the country. For $12 including tip, my meal consisted of a salad, fries, 5 different kinds of grilled meats brought out hot from the grill one at a time, a dessert flan, and a glass of red wine. It was exquisite, and it set the tone for the rest of my gastronomic experience in Argentina.
[2] Actually, I do remember. We discussed standup comedy as an artform. I love standup and am a firm believer that no topic is off limits in comedy, as long as it is funny. I shared with him that my favorite comedians when I was a teen were Louis CK and Dave Chappelle, but that now I feel differently about them both. For Louis CK, it was not just that he abused his power and influence for his sexual gratification. The bigger issue was that, through his comedy, he had made himself out to be the kind of guy who would never do such a thing, only to be revealed as exactly the kind of guy who did. For example, his bit about how “there is no greater threat to women than men” is difficult to watch now with full knowledge of his transgressions. Dave Chappelle hasn’t done any cancellable behavior but made all the social justice warriors mad by focusing his comedic ire on transgender people. The issue for me was that his jokes on the subject were not very funny. His remarks immediately following the 2016 election notwithstanding, I think Chappelle in recent years has not been as consistently hilarious or societally insightful as he was with his classic Washington DC standup special or his brilliant Chappelle Show. Anyways, I think it was my mention of Dave Chappelle, a famous Black man, that took my conversation with the Italian in the direction it went.