Another Oddly Average Day

The other day I was in San José yet again, trying to do some more crap for my permanent residency. Danilo, the immigration lawyer I have there, suggested we meet at the Denny´s by the Best Western on the freeway, since it was a fairly common landmark. So, I decided to go inside the Denny´s (sorry Dad) and get a cup of coffee while I was waiting for Danilo. As I was looking through my mound of papers and my passport, I was pondering yet again what it meant to be an American, and what it meant to reside in one place or another. As my mind was kind of wandering, I started to think that I was a bit hard on American tourists in my previous post when I depicted them as lacking a certain amount of class and savvy when traveling in foreign countries.
Then, as if on cue, 2 American couples in their early twenties walked in to the restaurant. Both of the girls were wearing bikini tops, and thier not-fat-but-certainly-also-not-toned bellies were sticking out underneath. I could tell by their voices that they were definitely Americans (or Canadian spies). I then concluded that in my previous assessments of American tourists, I´d not nearly been hash enough in my condemnations.
I mean, c´mon. We all like a nice bikini, but these weren´t nice bikinis; they were kinda skanky (but that aspect of their presentation was amplified by their loser boyfriends, admittedly). And San José is basically in the middle of the country, and nowhere near a beach at all. Finally, Denny´s isn´t the classiest of joints, but for a place that bills itself as a family restaurant, these people seemed a bit underdressed. Once again, I shook my head, Uncle Sam rolled over in his grave, and an American Bald Eagle cried a single red, white, and blue tear.
Anyhow, shortly after the freakshow walked in, Danilo followed, and we discussed my residency documents. He´s going to join me in my fight against El Hombre and his burocracia. My papers basically looked to be in order, so now he´s going to sign up for a date in March or April that he can make an appointment to apply for my residency. Yes, he´s making an appointment for an appointment for an application. How´s that for government efficiency, fuckers?
Anyhow, I asked him if I was anywhere near a part of San José called Escazú, where there was a rumored mall with a rumored international bookstore. I was hurting for reading material for my English classes, especially for my 5th and 6th graders. So he said, "Sure, I can take you to the Multiplaza. My ex-wife lives near there." So he lead me out to the casino in the adjacent building, where his ex-wife Giselle was (I swear) inside the casino, relaxing on a chair next to the slot machines and reading a book about English grammar.
So, my immigration lawyer, his Anglophile ex-wife, and I all drove across town in rush hour traffic to the mall to visit the international bookstore. It turns out they had a few things to do in the mall, so while I looked at the bookstore (score! "James and the Giant Peach"!), they did their things. Afterwards, we met up at a little restaurant, where Danilo bought us a little supper and chatted to me about literature and the German language, which he happens to speak a bit of.
We then dropped off Giselle at her house near Escazú (the whole time I never really figured out why she was even hanging out with Danilo that day in the first place...but no matter, she was really nice), and Danilo drove me back into the center of San José to catch a bus from a station that happened to be two blocks from his house.
So upon further reflection, that was certainly a strange day, but of late, my days seem to be strange. Nothing like talking dog strange, but still mildly interesting, at least. Hopefully you didn´t get too bored reading about it.

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