Friday night. 2:30 AM. You’re on your way home from a dinner party. (Believe it or not, in Buenos Aires, this is not an unusual time for a dinner party to end.)

You are on the street by yourself trying to get a cab home, when a bus stops in front of you and a group of five of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen in your life gets off. No exaggeration whatsoever. Perfect score. Ten out of ten. Each one.

And then one of them asks you (in Castellano) for directions. Imagine if that conversation went something like this:

Supermodel #1: “Blah Blah Blah” (en Castellano)

You: “Lo siento, no hablo español.”

Supermodel #2 (unbelievably): “So you speak English? Where are you from?”

You: “The United States - Miami”

Supermodels #1-5 look at each other as if they’ve just realized that they’re talking to Brad Pitt or Justin Timberlake, and then at you, as if you’re a genie who can grant their every wish, and then uncontrollably gush some variation of:

“MIAMI! Bonissimo! Dios mio! Oh! I love Miami! People in Miami are so cool! What’s your name?”

You: “Um, Matt” (if in fact that were your name)

Supermodels #1 - 5 all repeat “Matt”, eagerly introduce themselves, and identify themselves as residents of some suburb of Buenos Aires (Moreno, I think). And then:

“We are looking for Coronel Diaz; can you help us find it? There is - there’s - a big party happening there. It is going to be muy, um, very good.”

What would you say?

Something like “Oh, yeah, I’m heading that way, I’ll walk you”? Or maybe, “What kind of party?” Or perhaps, “Sure! I love parties! Who gets to be my date?”

I said:

“Oh yeah, you just take a left around the corner and then go straight for a block or two.”

What?!?

I blew it, right? Nope, not yet!

Supermodel #2 (looking crestfallen): “I no understand, could you say that more slow? This neighborhood is new for us.”

Second chance, big guy. No one gets a second chance like this!

And so:

Me (very patiently, using hand gestures this time): “Oh sure. You… go… left. Then… walk straight (doing the FSU tomahawk chop to illustrate “straight”) for one block… un cuadro… o dos.”

And then the girls nodded slowly and followed my directions. And probably enjoyed an awesome party with someone who, on that particular night, wasn’t acting like a social imbecile.

I was able to get a cab like a minute after they all disappeared from view, though. So that was something.

Life sucks when you’re an idiot.

UPDATE: The scene was a little like this, except it was at night, in a city, and more pathetic: