This happened many years ago, in an apartment in Mexico City.
Myself, Ms. Ace and Mr. Shine, a young preteen back then, were living in Mexico due to work commitments. It was our first destination as an itinerant family unit and it introduced us to the wonders of being expats.
Spacebuns was not born yet. She came into this world when we were in Singapore a few years later.
The night was heavy with excitement.
No, not really. That was a cliché to fuck with you a little bit.
The night was like any other night with the difference that the boys wanted to play poker.
They would organise poker nights, perhaps one every few months or so, with the intention of letting off steam after work and bond a tiny bit.
Ms. Ace was the boss of the sales team at the super-duper tech company, but they did not invite her because in Mexico, a profoundly chauvinistic society, a middle-aged woman with a child cannot be seen in a room where men are playing poker.
So they invited me.
I was not good at poker -I learnt that skill many years later- but in the spirit of bonding with Ms. Ace’s team -and finding out the truth about the work they were doing for my better half- I accepted the invitation.
I put aside a hundred dollars to be “lost” wagering hopeless hands, had one small capsule of my favourite tryptamine and worked my way to the venue.
On arrival to the apartment I could gather that these guys were taking their poker very seriously. They had a banker paid by the hour, who brought in a nice foldable poker table and a set of very fancy poker chips. In the lounge room there was a shelf of fancy spirits, tequilas, whiskeys and cognacs, and even a tray with Mexican and Cuban cigars.
I was losing one hand after the next, being the archetypal fish in a room full of sharks. As I knew my limitations back then, I only played for peanuts and lost very little in each round -my objective was to eyeball the work spirit of the team and warn Ms. Ace of any weird shenanigans.
A few hours later, at the point where my stack of chips was looking sorry and mangy, the conversations became louder and more convivial. Obviously the boys were drinking and their blood alcohol levels were high.
The atmosphere had warmed and my tryptamines were kicking in, wrapping me in a nice and fuzzy blanket of weirdness and colours.
And then the bombshell I was waiting for came hurling towards me.
One of the senior team members, a slim dude I will call PK, was talking with the boss of the team (and Ms. Ace’s jefe) about the work pipeline and how exasperated he was.
“…ella manda emails los fines de semana. Mi tiempo libre es mio. Estoy cansado de trabajar con esa pinche mujer…“
A rough quick translation is: I am fed up of working with that bloody woman.
My warm fuzzy high vanished and was immediately transformed into a murderous rage.
My fist came crashing down on the green felt with the force of a jackhammer and I shouted to the top of my lungs:
“What the fuck is wrong with you, piece of shit – you are talking about my wife like that, in my face?!“
It was a Mexican standoff, in a poker room in Mexico City. On tryptamines. Hunter S. Thompson would be so proud.
The room went silent. The infamous PK was white as a ghost, probably remembering a prayer. I think he honestly did not know the gravity of the situation until he saw my face.
According to someone in the room, I looked like the Wrath of God. And in Mexico, this type of faux pas usually ends up with someone dead or wounded.
And then A. came walking thru the door.
He was one of the nicest of the boys; a veritable fridge of a human with the rough features and portly size of an Aztec stone idol, but with the golden heart of an old boy.
“Let it go, amigo.
I feel your pain but if you hurt him you’ll end up in jail. You do not want that. Think of Ms. Ace and Mr. Shine.
Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.”
And we went outside, into the cold night of Mexico City.
A few months after this incident we were on our way to Singapore, convinced that our adventures would not stop and certain that Mexico is a lovely destination, but not a country for an expat family where the woman is the breadwinner.