Saturday night I went out to a Mexican-themed birthday evening, consisting of dinner at a Mexican Restaurant (one of two in Edinburgh, I think) and then pub and dancing later. For the pub, we decided to go to the old student union, Teviot (which is basically just one giant 5-floor bar), dressed like Mexicans as we were, in ponchos and sombreros (although I, personally, was a "bandita" in boots and leather jacket).
Anyway, we were standing around having some drinks, when an American guy came up and asked Nick where he got his sombrero. Nick was trying to explain what the store was called and where it was, but the American dude was just confused, so Ben (the birthday boy) just came over and interjected that it was from Mexico, that it was indeed a true mexicano hat. And then came the fantastic American reply: "You don't buy no fucking hat like that in Me-hee-co, I been to fucking Me-hee-co and they don't sell no fucking hats like that one. That's a fucking pussy hat." I turned around to see who this fool was; it was hard to tell where he was from based on looks and accent, but I'm guessing he's some old riche New Englander who goes to USC and just happened to go to Cabo for spring break one year. I would label him with a lovely american term that they don't have over here: douchebag. Anyway, I was about to tell him off and ask where he'd been in Mexico, 'cause they certainly sell hats like that in TJ and Ensenada. I decided starting a loud argument of clashing egos would have been even more American, so I let it slide. Too bad, I could have made him look like even more of an idiot, although he did the job quite well himself. He wasn't even trashed -- just inexcusable. I just sighed and sipped my Newcastle, and then apologized for my countryman once he was gone.Oh, and the picture is "Salty Sombrero," the salt cellar we dressed up at dinner, with Ben's birthday cake and a tequila sunrise. Precioso, no?
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