5/13- I was violently, violently robbed.

I wish that were a joke. Here's the story:

So last Thursday night I had to give this midterm presentation and I put so much work into it and I was SOOOOOO nervous because it was pretty much the moment of truth: Can Peter speak Spanish in front of a large group of attractive, intimidating Argentines? I actually felt like I did a decent job, and even though my voice was fucking shaking and cracking and I probably sounded a little pre-pubescent, my body language was crazysexycoo. Anyways, so after the presentation, I was so glad it was over and was really antsy to just get really drunk and have a fun night. I ended up going to this club where this really sick band from Sri Lanka was playing that kind of sounds like M.I.A., but I think, SO much more fun (sort of like Lady Sovereign).

Anyways, so when I was walking home, I ended up meeting this really cool guy named Carlos on the street. We started talking and walked together for a while until we reached my apartment building. He then invited me to go out with him and his friends the next night (Friday). He kept on saying that I need to see the real Argentina and not the tourist version and I thought he was fun (and I also thought he was into me) so we exchanged numbers. Friday afternoon he called me and told me he and his friends were going to drive to a club just outside Buenos Aires and if I wanted to come I should give him my address so he could pick me up. I didn't think anything of it. He also asked what my apartment number was so that he could buzz me when he arrived. I gave it to him and then at 10:30 they were outside. I got in the car and we drove off. It was him and three other guys and we were having a fun time, talking politics, religion, etc. for about 20 minutes until we were outside of the city and then all of a sudden Carlos pulled out a gun.

Seriously, though. One second we were laughing, and the next second Carlos and his friends COMPLETELY changed and got really scary and were like, "Now? Now?" and nodded and then he pulled out a revolver. At first I thought it was a toy gun and I was confused until he started saying that they just wanted to take my money and that if I participated they wouldn't shoot me. As he was saying this, he was tying my hands and feet, taking everything from my pockets ($30, my cell phone, my ATM card, my driver's licence, my KEYS), and asking me for my PIN number. I at first lied but when he said, "We're going to an ATM right now and if you're fucking lying we're going to kill you motherfucker," I started crying and told him the truth, and he responded by smacking me on the head with the gun. It was so scary. On top of that, he asked me if my building always has a doorman, which really freaked me out, because I had told him my address and apartment number! These motherfuckers were ready to go into the place I live, threaten my host mom with a gun (a 73 year old woman who lives alone), and steal everything she and I own. Thank GOD we have a doorman 24 hours a day! Seriously!

So "Carlos" and another guy ended up getting out to go to an ATM and the other two stayed in the car and drove away. Right before Carlos stepped out, he put the gun to my face and said, "You wanted to know Argentina? THIS is Argentina. This is Argentina." And then they put duct tape over my mouth and made me lie on my side and they covered my face with a t-shirt. The whole time one of them was communicating with another one via cell phone, making sure they were able to withdraw as much money from my account as possible. The time period where I was lying on my side and had my face covered was the scariest because I had no idea where they were taking me and what they were planning on doing with me. They kept on saying, "Don't cry. We're not going to hurt you as long as you do as we say," but honestly, you never know when someone has a fucking gun and you're tied up! By this point, my mind was very clear and I decided to not say a thing and to not move an inch because when it came down to it, the money didn't matter. All that mattered was that I could get out of that fucking car. Nevertheless, it felt like we were driving around for two hours, even though it was probably about 20 minutes, and I was feeling nauseous I was so nervous, and I was trying to think of happy memories from my past just in case they ended up shooting me.

Eventually, they guy next to me said, "Peter. It's done. We're going to let you go now. We're going to cut your ties loose and you're going to run away from the car as fast as you can and not turn around. If you do, we'll kill you." They tried to cut the ties loose and let me out but the knife wasn't sharp enough (as calculating as these guys were, they were also idiots) so they just pushed me out of the car still bound hand and feet and drove away fast.

Luckily a few seconds later a big group of 20-something girls came out of the building right in front of me, and it was such a relief to see them. After experiencing such a horrendous and, frankly, hypermasculine crime, it was nice to be surrounded by girls. They were also great comic relief and really made me feel better, cutting my scissors, getting me water (and a cigarette haha), and giving me hugs and saying, "It's all over. You're alive." They told me I was in a province called San Martin (40 minutes outside of Buenos Aires!). They called the police and one of them gave me her phone number and told me to call her when I got back home.

Eventually the police showed up and took me to the station, where I spent literally three hours giving a confession to the police chief and then to investigators and then to a physician (to make sure I wasn't injured...obviously.). It was all so pointless, though, because they're definitely not going to catch them. These guys planned everything out, and also since I trusted them and wasn't suspicious at all, I wasn't able to adequately describe their car or anything important. Anyways, after all this, the police ended up driving me all the way back home.

When I got back, I checked my bank account balance and they had stolen all of my money (which was only $400, but still). I called Bank of America that night, though, and they said that I should be able to get reimbursed for 100% of the money stolen from me, but I have to call the Claims Department tomorrow to make sure. I didn't sleep at all that night knowing that they knew where I lived and had my keys and whenever I heard a door shut or the elevator go up or down, I'd freak out and think it was them.

On the positive side, they didn't hit me or violate me at all, and it could have been A LOT worse. Also, if Bank of America reimburses all the stolen money (knock on wood), then really, they'll just have stolen my cell phone, driver's license, and the equivalent of $30. The day after, my building changed all of its locks, which made me feel much better. And my friends here and the program directors have been very helpful. And, so sweet, I ended up calling the girl who had helped me out to say thank you and she said, "Don't worry. We're your guardian angels."

The day afterwards I experienced a whirlwind of emotions, switching between this intense, pure bliss at still being alive to the most intense anger I have ever felt in my life for being taken advantage of, for being bound and reduced to just a body and nothing more, and for falling for a stupid trick because I was thinking with my dick. At the end of the first day, I took a shower, felt the bruise on the back of my head, and for the first time since I was inside the car, started uncontrollably sobbing and couldn't stop for a good half hour, thinking about how scary it was and admitting to myself that I wasn't really all right.

By now, I'm feeling a lot better, although I really can't stop thinking about it. My intense anger has for the most part subsided, partially because it feels very unreal what happened to me, almost as if that day and the first part of the car ride were not just completely separate experiences, but almost separate levels of existence from what happened when they started robbing me. People always say that traumatic events feel like dreams or movies, and lemme tell you, it's really true.

Everyone's treating me as if I were a rape victim, being super tender and gentle and considerate, which is nice... and slightly amusing. I'm not sure whether they're overreacting and I'm actually doing well and slowly but surely dealing with this or whether they're completely justified and that my experience may affect me in ways I don't even notice. Who knows? As they say in Argentina, "Que se yo?" (What do I know?)

The shitty part is that this isn't common AT ALL in Argentina. It really could happen anywhere, which makes it harder because I feel like I can't really blame anyTHING, just the fucking a-holes who took advantage of me. Regardless, I'm going to take a break from bars and clubs for a while and instead, I don't know, stay at home, drink massive amounts of gin, read J.D. Salinger and Sylvia Plath, and play "Everybody Hurts." haha But no, seriously (sort of), I'm hoping to sort of repress this and deal with it about 30 years down the road... We'll see how that goes.