Don Raaaaamiiiiiiro

As I wait for my child by the entrance of our apartment building, I notice Don Ramiro walking out. The eighty-year old man in his pressed suit and tie, heads off to whatever pretend job he goes to, the kind where the “girl” fetches him coffee while he does the crossword puzzles and plans his lunch dates with his Franco-era cronies.

Is the middle-aged man deferentially following Don Ramiro a new man-servant? Could the old codger be getting more feeble? I discuss it with my husband. He’s doubtful “Nah, the bad ones hang on forever. Their toxic personality acts as a preservative.” I have another theory. “Maybe they’re secretly afraid of Hell?”

Don Ramiro is a machista who thinks he’s a gentleman. He feels immensely superior to women and to foreigners. He hates children. He has neither manners, nor education, nor culture, nor any professional distinction that I’ve heard of. He did, however, have enough common sense to marry the daughter of a president of a national bank. This means that he manages his wife’s inheritance, which includes three apartments in our building. No self-respecting third world dictator presiding over his domains takes himself more seriously than Don Ramiro executing his responsibilities as head of the Building Association of Serrano XX.

In this capacity, he once dragged us to court and tried to kick us out of the building on the grounds that our uncivilized American habits caused us to wake up too early in the morning (7am) and our children made too much noise.

Don Ramiro, if we have to leave this building, I hope the next tenant is an Arab or African soccer player. If it’s a childless Spanish couple. I hope they have lots of parties, smoke crack and play really loud music. I hope the next renter decides to use the apartment as the locale for his thriving Casa Putas. Don Ramiro, when you get older and more infirm, I hope the poor third world woman taking care of you isn’t very nice. I hope she forgets to change your diapers and lets you sit in them. I hope you sit there powerless in your wheelchair while she watches her favorite telenovelas every time there’s a Clasico or Champion’s League soccer game on TV.

And when it’s your time, I hope the chasm of Hell opens up and the demons drag you down while the orchestra plays the finale of Mozart’s Don Giovanni.


Winni said…
Gosh, I love this post.
Marcf said…
I hope he reads it. LOL
Anonymous said…
Luis said…
"He has neither manners, nor education"

This post just reveals that you are pretty close to him in both manners and education
Marcf said…
No, I personally feel vastly superior to that "paleto". On education, I seriously doubt he has PhD or can actually speak enough english to read. But I sure hope you will translate for him given that you actually give a hoot. This "paleto de pueblo" insulted my wife and my child to hers and my face. NOWHERE in the world have seen such rude behavior. He is the low life remnant of the franco era, neither education nor manners, but certainly soberbia. The sooner his generation dies out the better it looks for spain in the eyes of your average international woman. Un gusano de paleto. Punto y basta.
Luis said…
I can clearly see the kind of person Don Ramiro is; we still have some of them around here. I also agree that we are better off without them, but your wife´s rant seemed to me a little bit too much. Anyway, I hope things are better now.

"Nah, the bad ones hang on forever. Their toxic personality acts as a preservative" === "Bicho malo nunca muere"
Nathalie said…
This is not a rant against Spaniards or Spain. Every country has its local version of Don Ramiro. If he feels so superior to French and North Americans with more professional success, education and culture than he has, I can only imagine the treatment people like him reserve for people of color from developing countries. Plenty of people feel superior to me and I don't give them a second thought. With this man, my reasons to detest him are not cultural (in which case I'd simply regard him as a harmless old artifact); they are personal. He attacked me, insulted me and threatened to kick us out of our apartment because he didn't like the noise our children made. While standing two meters away from me in the courthouse, this man insulted me and my husband, our qualities as parents and our children while talking to our lawyer; never once did he acknowledge our presence - he either must imagine we don't understand Spanish or are simply beneath common courtesy. Every Spanish person I've talked to says its laughable that we thought he could kick us out of our apartment, less so because the noise our children make, since the laws are pretty favorable to tenants and protective of families, but when you are a foreigner and you don't know the legal system and somebody sends you a nasty legal letter and takes you to court, you don't know they're just harassing you; you take them seriously. The back story is here: I imagine somebody has translated this for Don Ramiro because I passed him in the entrance of the building today and he gave me a look that said if he could have burned me at the stake, he would...Nathalie

Popular posts from this blog

The Dollar is an Asset Backed Token.

The Brotherhood is Displeased

Cavity effects in Double Slit experiments in Walker Systems