Needy, Seedy "Swede"

On my last full day in Riga, Latvia, I was sitting in the downstairs bar working on my computer during most of the late morning and afternoon since the rooms had no Internet access. I occasionally would order a latte and watched the crowds ebb and flow in the periphery of my vision. Sometimes the bar would get more crowded, but I was off in a far corner in a single seat (of a set of four) around a small table. I never seemed to be taking up space that others were waiting for. Around 3 pm or so, I was thinking about wrapping up, locking up luggage in my room, and doing some more sightseeing. I started typing some last things out and started to shut down my computer, when I noticed someone approaching out of the corner of my eye.

Then, still shutting down things, I noticed this person coming over distinctly to my set of chairs. This was an unnecessary intrusion since there were many seats/tables left vacant in this public area. So it was clear this person was coming to talk with me. "Just sit your ass right down!" I thought to myself. Continuing to pack things into my backpack, I looked up and a pudgy man older than I was sidestepping between the table and the seat catty corner to me. He was carrying a backpack himself and both he and his luggage looked a bit worn.

"Excuse me," he said in English that sounded accented in some European language but not in Russian, "but I was sitting over there and was thinking it might be interesting to have a come over conversation with you." (Okay, this isn't a direct quote, but is roughly the style of fluent, if somewhat labored, English that he spoke.) Unsure of his intentions -- I thought perhaps he was interested in my computer -- I kept packing up and said okay. He asked if we could have a beer. I thought that I had complained lately to a few people that meeting people was difficult; so, what the hell, I'll have a quick beer with this guy and see what his story is. He went over and ordered and came back as I fastened my pack and made sure it was in my reach and away from his. When the waitress came with the beers, I got up to try to pay still keeping the bag under my control, but he paid more quickly. At that point, I thought that I was committed for a further round that I would buy to avoid being rude.

He asked if I was British -- this seems a common perception, perhaps because Americans don't come to Eastern Europe as often. I replied that I was American. He said that he was Swedish and that he had visited New York. I said that I had visited a few cities in Sweden recently -- Stockholm, Uppsala, Helsingborg -- and really enjoyed Stockholm. He said that he didn't find Stockholm as pleasant as other people. I asked him why and he responded vaguely, saying that I might feel the same way about New York perhaps. I told him that when I first visited it years ago, it was dirtier and more dangerous and that I still carried around some of those associations, but that it was a lot better now.

He asked at some point around here if I could understand him. I told him yes, that his English was very good -- certainly better than my Swedish. He seemed flattered and said that it was nice of me to admit this.

He said something about meeting a man a previous night (perhaps) at this same hotel. (At first I thought he said that he himself might have been staying at this hotel a few nights ago. From his tone and his slightly rumpled look, I thought he was going to ask me for money or for help for a few moments.) That man was a German. He said that they had had some drinks there and the conversation seemed to be going well, so they decided to go to another bar and have more drinks there. They had a few rounds when his companion said he had to go outside to smoke. His English faltered a little and he rambled a little around the point, so I had a hard time understanding. But evidently his companion made an excuse to leave for a few minutes and ditched him. Jorje may or may not have been left with a bar tab, it wasn't clear, but his feelings were hurt. I said that this was rude and was sorry the person had treated him poorly. "Don't worry," I thought, "you and I ain't leaving this hotel."

He asked where I was from and I said that I was from Virginia. He recognized the state and joked "Oh, you're a Southern boy!" I replied that I was in fact from the Capital of the Confederacy, but I don't know if he got that reference and I didn't elaborate. He said he was also from the south of Sweden. I named a few major cities I knew, but he seemed to want to be vague about the details.

We exchanged names. His was "Jorje", I think. The local version of "George", I guessed. He asked me the origin of my name and I said I wasn't sure, but I thought it might be Celtic originally. He asked if I ever found having a name like "Gregg" to be a problem in the US. I answered no and asked what he meant. He was wondering about some sort of anti-Irish prejudice. I said that this used to be a big factor a century ago in the US, when the population was mostly English, but that wasn't a big consideration now outside of some neighborhoods in the big Eastern port towns like Boston, New York, and Chicago, as far as I knew. I mentioned that with more and more immigrants coming from diverse places like India, Southeast Asia, and Africa, all Europeans tended to be lumped together as "white", regardless of origin.

Around here he mentioned for no apparent reason that Eastern Europe wasn't like Scandanavia. I can't remember his exact phrasing, but he had an odd way of transitioning at times, saying things like "Please excuse me for saying this, but...." and then leaving some non-sequitur statement hanging. Either from his tone or wording or the context, it was soon clear to me that he meant Eastern Europe wasn't safe, perhaps things could happen...

At this point I started to get chill down my spine. He didn't say anything threatening, but I became quite aware of the fact that I was thousands of miles from home, alone, in perhaps not the safest place in the world. Part of it was that I could easily imagine him segueing into a threat from what he'd said or a threatening implication (like "well, you know here sometimes young people -- like yourself -- traveling alone just ... um how do you say?... disappear....") . I looked him directly in the eyes and asked him good naturedly what he meant all the while thinking, "Dude, if you try to mess with me, I will hurt you" and sizing him up. He mentioned something about the Russian mob being prevalent and said in a hushed tone that (gasp!) some of the more well dressed men in the bar might be Russian gangsters. I said that one could never tell and that in fact there were lots of Russian mobsters in back home in Brighton Beach aka "Little Odessa".

Soon after, I noticed he'd finished his beer. Not wanting to provoke or be rude, I offered to buy another round, took my backpack with me to the counter, ordered two of the same beers we'd been drinking and returned. I don't know if he noticed, but my first beer was still half full -- I didn't want to drink too much. While I was ordering the beers, my back was turned. At that point, I thought I'm not touching that first beer ever again and didn't. Jorje's little comment about Latvia being different made me think of how easy it is to slip something into a drink when someone isn't looking.

One thing I noticed is that Jorje at times would make a point of repeating my name unnecessarily in statements like "Gregg, I think ..." Then later he'd ask me my name. When people ask me things they already know, it makes me wonder if they think I'm lying to them -- seeing if I change my answer. I thought perhaps between him repeating it and having me repeat it he was trying to make sure he didn't forget it. That's okay, Jorje, anyone in Riga calls me Gregg, I know it's you. I made sure not to give him anything easily traced to me like a room number, last name, etc.

We talked for another 20 minutes or so. Most of the time it was fine, but every once in a while, he slip back into making a statement or question that had potentially creepy follow-ups, but would never actually say anything bothersome or objectionable.

For instance, one time he said out of the blue something like "You know, when I first came in, I saw you sitting here and I went to the woman at the bar and asked if I could maybe come over and talk to you. She said 'No, I don't think that would be a good idea.' " And then left the statement hanging. So I looked him straight in the eyes and asked the obvious question "And why did she say that?" He didn't really answer and let the subject drop.

After a while, he said something again about the Russian mob possibly being around. He seemed unnerved, lowered his voice, and asked me to lean over so he could say something about them. Sorry, Jorje, no way I'm leaning over toward you. So I told him forcefully I could hear him fine. He urged me again to lean over so he could say something. I repeated that I could hear him quite well; I was much more worried about him grabbing my hair or doing something stupid than I was about some mobster nearby overhearing and deciding he had to kill us both. He finally relented and said something not shocking about how dangerous Russians could be. Sometimes he made a weird statement and asked me what I thought. At those points, I'd give a non-commital answer and/or play dumb and ask him what he meant. He asked me my age at one point and I said "old enough" jokingly.

All through the second round, I was really just biding time until I could leave politely and easily. At some point we started talking about Hispanics for some reason. He asked me about my perceptions. I gave him a general explanation of some of the prejudices they faced and perhaps some of the reasons for the prejudices, but added that I knew someone who had worked on a farm with them who was impressed with their endurance and how hard working they were. And that women around Southern California felt safe picking up day laborers by themselves -- something they wouldn't do with single, white guys looking for work.

He looked a little displeased. "Excuse me for saying, but can we give it a rest?" I thought he was implying some disingenuity on my part, but said I didn't understand what he meant. "Could we give it a rest?" So, I asked if he thought I wasn't being truthful.

"No," he replied. He wanted to take a bathroom break. Great timing, Jorje! I was looking for an excuse to leave anyway. So I looked around for a clock and said "Gosh look at the time....unfortunately I have a telephone meeting I need to get to..." He asked if after my meeting I would come down and we could continue our conversation. I told him that no I wasn't going to be able to do that, but that I enjoyed talking with him, and thanked him for buying me a beer and conversing with me. About this time, I noticed that he was getting a little sloppy.

As I was preparing to leave, he reached over for my first, half-finished beer and started drinking it. "Okay, Jorje, umm...that one's yours," I thought. No big loss since I wasn't going to drink it anyway. I noticed him gulping and then beer spilling from his mouth on his beard.

I bid him well and then left and went to my room via the nearby central stair case. I figured that was the quickest way out and had the side benefit of making it hard for him to follow without being heard and of making it hard to figure out which floor I was on.

I stayed in my hotel room for about an hour afterward. Although he seemed, in the end, like a pathetic drunk, I watched my back when I went out that evening to get dinner and for the rest of my 18 hours in Riga. Just because he's harmless doesn't mean all of his friends and associates are.

Sorry, Jorje, Sven, or whatever your name or nationality really is. I hope your life gets better, because it seems like it's probably crappy now. But maybe you should try being less of lonely, needy drunk.

Another piece of advice: if you want to be less lonely, when someone does agree to have a conversation with you, maybe it's not such a great strategy to make weird disjointed comments that peg any reasonable person's creepometer.

Note to self: the strategy to meeting quality people is NOT by meeting those who pick you out of a crowd. Especially not pudgy, older guys. (Not that there's anything in the universe wrong with that, IGWSBIJSIA.)