The Cerveza Question
The last three Friday afternoons, Barry and I have sat in our half-finished kitchen drinking beer and chatting with the workers about families, local customs, accents, legal and illegal immigration, Mexican vs. U.S. health systems (yes, Mexico does have a national health insurance), and much more.
A few days ago, Barry returned to Humboldt County, our other home (these days, I have a hard time knowing which "home" is home), leaving me here. With one Friday left on my visit, I assumed I would host our "Happy Hour" without him. I happened to mention this casually to an American friend, a cross-cultural consultant married to a Costa Rican. Her answer jarred me. "Don't," she said. "Trust me. It's different on your own. You'll give the wrong message. You'll come across as a slut."
Wasn't she exaggerating? I had thought the workers and I had good rapport. Was I so naïve? I decided to ask some other people. One of my Spanish teachers agreed it was not a good idea, saying that even if the workers didn't interpret it as flirtatious, they might lose respect for me.
I also asked a bilingual friend who was raised in Mexico, but who lived and worked in the States for 30 years. "The situation is awkward," she said. "It's not part of traditional exican culture for men and womenof different classes to drink together. Think about the men-only cantinas here."
She had some insightful alternatives, however. I could ask our architect to join us. Then the (female) client--me--and the (male) boss would be joint hosts, which would change the dynamic. Or I could invite the workers to bring their wives and children along for a party and provide Cokes and cookies (not beer!). Or I could buy the guys beer and tell them it was for them, but I wouldn't be able to join them.
I decided on the last option. The idea of inviting the families over is lovely, but it makes more sense at a later point, closer to the completion date, when Barry and I can co-host it.
Yesterday, I showed our maestro the beers in the fridge. Told him that "el senor" (Barry) and I wanted the guys to enjoy them, but I wouldn't be there. He nodded, smiling. And I went off to my writing group, happy to have cultural informants I can rely on. Without them, I might have never known there was a problem.
A few days ago, Barry returned to Humboldt County, our other home (these days, I have a hard time knowing which "home" is home), leaving me here. With one Friday left on my visit, I assumed I would host our "Happy Hour" without him. I happened to mention this casually to an American friend, a cross-cultural consultant married to a Costa Rican. Her answer jarred me. "Don't," she said. "Trust me. It's different on your own. You'll give the wrong message. You'll come across as a slut."
Wasn't she exaggerating? I had thought the workers and I had good rapport. Was I so naïve? I decided to ask some other people. One of my Spanish teachers agreed it was not a good idea, saying that even if the workers didn't interpret it as flirtatious, they might lose respect for me.
I also asked a bilingual friend who was raised in Mexico, but who lived and worked in the States for 30 years. "The situation is awkward," she said. "It's not part of traditional exican culture for men and womenof different classes to drink together. Think about the men-only cantinas here."
She had some insightful alternatives, however. I could ask our architect to join us. Then the (female) client--me--and the (male) boss would be joint hosts, which would change the dynamic. Or I could invite the workers to bring their wives and children along for a party and provide Cokes and cookies (not beer!). Or I could buy the guys beer and tell them it was for them, but I wouldn't be able to join them.
I decided on the last option. The idea of inviting the families over is lovely, but it makes more sense at a later point, closer to the completion date, when Barry and I can co-host it.
Yesterday, I showed our maestro the beers in the fridge. Told him that "el senor" (Barry) and I wanted the guys to enjoy them, but I wouldn't be there. He nodded, smiling. And I went off to my writing group, happy to have cultural informants I can rely on. Without them, I might have never known there was a problem.
posted by Louisa at 4:08 PM
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