But Squirrel was in a class by himself.
He fell in love with the young cook, the one with two kids and no husband. Of course, he also fell in love with both receptionists, all the waitresses at the three restaurants nearby, and just about any female within eyeshot of San Virgo. But Squirrel was on a mission. He started speaking to the young cook on nonbreakfasty topics which pissed me off because I was obligated to translate. He pulled out the greatest hits from Wolfs-R-Us and tried them one after another on the young lass.
She was flattered of course. She was being doted on, or preyed on, take your pick, by an American foreigner. He was promising the world, which basically consisted of house payments and food for the kids. These were tough negotiations and I kinda felt like the UN trying to bring stability and harmony to pass.
Okay, maybe not.
But just three days into this hot international negotiation, the young cook failed to show up. Urgent pleas were requested of the remaining cook and when all was said and repeated, and said again and then rerepeated with a bit more clarity this time, with a third time just to be sure, it is uncovered that the lass with two kids no longer has employment with Hotel Gringo, though it is alleged that she never did, and that she would no longer participate in the morning general assembly of the UN, the Uncomprehended Nonnationals.
Squirrel made a valiant effort to make good on his promise (trust me, I had to translate each and every friggin' phone call and all the messages, and all the misunderstandings, and all the double talk, and all the --.). I don't know what happened in the end, but I can say that everyone else in Hotel Gringo now protects the NEW set of cooks with an iron curtain. If Squirrel even comes close to talking to either of them, there are at least five gringos within arm's reach to keep him from getting too close.
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