Scotsman

I’m in Italy with a bunch of American college students. One day, eight of us made plans to go to the beach together. Due to a communication breakdown, three of us got on one bus, while the rest got on another. We agreed that going to some strange beach by ourselves would be an adventure. I went so far as to make a joke about the movie Hostel. We laughed because we didn’t know. Within five minutes, a man walked onto the bus and sat behind us. He weighed in at about 250 pounds, was wearing about 50 cents worth of clothing, and had a few tattoos, some of which had been blacked out. He heard us speaking English and asked us “are you yanks?” We said yes. He then sat down across the aisle from us, next to a somewhat miffed Italian girl who got off at the next stop. As it turns out, this was a Scotsman. He was so happy to hear English, because he does not speak Italian. We heard the better part of this man’s life story. He has been in Italy since 1999. As far as we could tell, he had not shaved, showered, gotten a haircut, or brushed his teeth since he got here. In fact, it seemed as if it had been that long since he had found another English speaker. He talked for a while about film. One of my friends later said that he thought I was going to “film buff it up with him.” I explained to him that despite being a bit nuts myself, I have enough discretion to know when not to get too involved in a conversation with someone who is clearly out of his mind. The closest I got to actually conversing with him was to say that I too liked Se7en. Our tastes in movies did not overlap very much. By chance, there were a few good movies that he liked, but his preferences seemed to have less to do with quality than genre. He loves movies about serial killers and movies about jail. His favorite movie is Saw 3. I spent a while wondering if there were any chance he was not homeless. Eventually, he explained that he was a homeless hippy who sells watches. It was around then when I noticed that he was wearing two of them, one on each wrist, and would periodically look at both of them to check the time, but I don’t know where he was in such a hurry to be. In addition to movies, he talked about politics. He asked why so many people hate George W. Bush, and when we offered a reason, told us he had not heard of any war in Iraq. He said that he prefers McCain, another Scotsman, to Obama, a “half caste”. He also told us his views on Italians. He complained that the Italians don’t understand English well enough for him. He told us that a guy would have a better chance of having sex with Winona Horowitz (Ryder) (the hottest girl after Sandra Bullock and Halle Berry, another half caste) than with an Italian girl. He also used the word “wop” (not actually accurate in Italy) a lot more than one probably should when in Italy. Then, he told us about his views on blowjobs. Apparently, black and Jewish girls give the best ones, and could teach classes on the subject. Eventually, as all good things must, the bus ride came to an end. We said goodbye to him, were careful not to shake hands with him, and went on our way to the part of the beach that he told us he didn’t like.
We talked for a few minutes about how ridiculous that was, and then we saw him, walking along the beach in our general direction, trying to bum a cigarette. Like ostriches hiding from a predator, we all instantly lay face down, in hopes that he wouldn’t recognize us. Naturally, he did. He sat down in the sand near us, and started talking some more. We noticed that one of his watches was gone (probably sold), but he still looked at both wrists to check the time. He warned us about the gypsy sitting 100 meters away, and told us she would try to rob us like she had tried to rob him. He didn’t want something like that to happen to three good looking boys like ourselves. The time frame of this alleged attempted robbery was unclear, considering that he had certainly not walked past her since we got off the bus. He talked some more about politics, telling us that when Obama wins the election, (a certainty), the Jews will assassinate him because he is Muslim, just like the Jews assassinated Kennedy. We were quiet, and tried to let the conversation die, but this man hadn’t talked since 1999, and had quite a lot to say. He had a lot of stories about getting in arguments with Italian police and yelling at them in English. Apparently, the police were naïve enough to believe 20 witnesses over a creepy Scotsman when he was accused of starting fights. He believes Italy is too lenient on murderers because they only get ten years in jail, and Italian jails are like hotels with TVs. He thinks that the death penalty in the US is too harsh, but 30 years would be just right. We decided not to ask how he knows what happens to murderers in Italy and what Italian jails are like. Eventually, he put his bag down and asked us to watch his stuff while he went to ask for a fag. We told him that we were leaving soon, and would not be there to watch his stuff. He said that was okay, and he just wanted to be sure that nobody stole his stuff. We spent about ten minutes explaining to him that we would not be there to make sure of anything, and the gypsy would probably steal his stuff while we were gone. Finally, he took a hint, and took his stuff with him. We quickly got up and power walked to another part of the beach to wait for the bus. We agreed that we would use the safe word “cosa facciamo” (what are we doing) if one of us saw him coming our direction, and the contingency plan would be to stick together. Eventually, we saw a bus come to the stop 20 minutes earlier than we had expected. I went to ask the driver if he was going to our stop and when. He said “si” (yes) and “adesso” (now). I asked him if I had two minutes, and he told me to hurry. I ran back as fast as my sandals would carry me, apologized to some Italians for accidentally kicking sand in their faces, yelled “COSA FACCIAMO,” and told the guys we had to haul ass to get on the bus. If we missed it, we would have had to wait an hour for the next one, during which time our friend would probably have returned.
The whole time we’ve been in Italy, we (and, to a much greater extent, the girls) had been watching out for creepy Italian guys wearing banana hammocks. We never expected to have a run-in like this with a Scotsman. For me, one of the most intriguing things he said was that he has a sister who goes to UCLA. I tried to imagine any of the girls I know at UCLA having a brother who travels around Italy, not speaking the language, selling watches on the street and hitting on young boys. I tried to think of a way I could get his sister’s name without giving him mine, but eventually decided to give up on that.
Once we got on the bus and had time to calm down, we did the math and realized that he had been in Italy for ten years. That’s a long time to live in a country he doesn’t like with a language he doesn’t speak. Thus, there must have been something very important detaining him in Italy. If only we could think of something that would keep a man in one place for ten years against his will. I suppose we’ll never know. I don’t think anybody knows.

The following evening, two of us, still shocked, were walking to dinner with a couple girls we know. We were passing a food cart when my friend whispered to me “Look at the cart! Cosa Facciamo!” I turned and saw that the Scotsman was standing less than ten meters away from us. Without talking anymore, the two of us bolted. We hid behind the next building and waited for the girls to catch up with us. They were baffled by what we did, but we explained whom we saw. Having already heard the story, they didn’t need much explanation. Having my camera with me, I decided that we needed a picture of this man. Neither of us who had met the Scotsman were willing to encounter him again and risk him recognizing us. I asked the girls if they were willing to go back and take a picture. I explained that they were under no obligation and it might not be a good idea. They, however, were more than willing to do this. It was dark, and without my glasses I couldn’t see very far. My friend looked at the girls periodically and told me what was happening. They got the picture, then made friends with the guys working at the cart, and hung out with them behind the counter. After a while they came back with some great pictures.
See if you can guess which one of these men nearly gave me a heart attack.