The Auditor 3

The Auditor

By Miguel Maynard

22,350 words

In the 1990s a friend of mine's wife at the time owned a Genesis table. It was a padded table that the subject would lie down on. She connected several sensors to the subject's body and told them to relax. Then she put on the music. Based on data from the sensors, the device would change the music's speed, rhythm, mood, and so on, fine-tuning it to provide maximum enjoyment for the subject. When it worked well, the subject would reach a state resembling bliss.

I thought about the Genesis table as I sat in my cramped airline seat on a flight from Miami to Buenos Aires. Every step in the evolution of the airline seat seemed designed to make the passenger more uncomfortable, culminating in the miserable seats we have today. I was on a nine-hour flight, and there was nothing to do except put up with it.

Well, I first thought there was nothing to do. The last passenger to come on board was an American woman in her thirties who had obviously been drinking and was very talkative: give her a subject, and she'll go on for half an hour. She told me she was Betty, and I told her I was Michael. She asked me if I was married or had a girlfriend, and I said no. She said, "Maybe you just don't know how to handle women." I started to complain, but I forgave her because she was drinking. "What can you tell me about that?" I asked. "Is there a procedure?" She liked the question. "There are so many scenarios, but I can give you one example."

As soon as I realized she was actually going to do that, I hit the Record button on my smartphone. This could be interesting, I thought. For the next half hour, she gave me a complete scenario in amazing concrete detail of how a man can pick up a woman, bring her back to his place, and take her to bed. She dozed off, but several times during the rest of the flight she woke up and said, "I almost forgot to tell you..." and gave me more details, including how to handle challenging cases. It was so specific and frank that I thought for a moment that she was trying to seduce me. When the plane landed in Buenos Aires, though, we wished each other good luck and went separately into the airport crowd.

Let me explain about myself. My dad was a consulting engineer, and we moved around a lot between countries. I got interested in languages, so in college I studied languages and business management. I taught language and literature courses for several years, but got bored with that (as I did with everything) and got a job at a big corporation. There I was assigned to audit procedures and make sure they matched policies. I did well and earned a plaque naming me "Mr. Procedures."

I'm on the thin side, average height, and maybe slightly above average looking. I like to dress well (but nothing fancy), and I've been told I look "clean cut." The trouble is that I'm quiet and must look and act a bit dull, so I've had no luck meeting women. They seem to go for the boisterous bad boys like my older brother. I've had a couple of girlfriends, but they don't stay around. Maybe Betty's advice would help.

Besides English, I'm fluent in French and Spanish and also do basic German, Italian, and Portuguese. I was thinking of looking for a job overseas, when I found an ad for a six-month assignment in Argentina. I'd never been to that country, and I'd struggled to understand dialog in their movies because their pronunciation is so different from the version spoken in Mexico, where I'd learned most of my Spanish. The other things I'd heard about Argentina are common with most other countries in Latin America: courteous people and corrupt public officials. I also knew that the economy was in terrible shape, with a lot of people suffering from the effects of hyperinflation.

I arrived five days early at my own expense to get used to the local pronunciation, which was not an easy task. I went to movies but still struggled with understanding Argentinian Spanish. One of the movies I saw, by the way, was Belle de Jour, which I learned was a cult hit, like The Rocky Horror Picture Show in the U.S. Audience members recited the lines along with the characters. They also gasped and wept at appropriate moments. Belle de Jour is about a doctor's wife who secretly does part-time prostitution as an erotic outlet. Maybe it was a hit because in Argentina at the time the economy had pushed some middle-class women to moonlight as prostitutes.

On Monday morning I found the Ministry of Education and met with the person I'd be replacing, who was taking six months off for another assignment. Augustina was a short, well-dressed woman in her forties who greeted me politely and asked how my flight was. The job was to inspect and verify the teaching of foreign languages in schools in small cities. I'd drive to a city and spend a day talking to teachers, looking at teaching records, and sitting in on classes. She explained that she'd be taking me through the procedures and online forms to fill out for each school. She said a few things to me in English, leading me to wonder how she was able to evaluate the quality of English teaching. Maybe that's why I was hired.

Note: Except as noted, all dialog is my translation from Spanish, and all currency amounts are conversions to dollars.

Most of the items on the online evaluation forms were fairly objective and based on what a careful observer and auditor could observe in a day. For each section there was a text box for comments. There was also a text box for areas for improvement and a nonprinting "Comentario Efímero" (Ephemeral Commentary) whose text would disappear after five days, intended for private communication between the auditor and the school administrator. Augustina said she always put a pleasant note of thanks in that box thanking the administrator for his courtesy and cooperation during the visit.

She said that my route would start in the northwest corner of the country and that I'd work my way southward toward Buenos Aires. That certainly wouldn't cover the whole country, but the rest would have to wait. She said we'd go together to the first two schools, both in Salta. We'd fly there on Wednesday morning and I'd rent a car for six months to travel between cities. The next day I met her manager, Daniel Pico, who politely welcomed me and wished me luck. She said he was supportive and recognized the hardship involved in being on the road for six months but that I shouldn't have to contact him very often. I also met Rosa Alpa, the secretary who made all the appointments with the schools. Her communication with me would be mainly through online forms, but that I should communicate delays through email. The schools were responsible for reserving my hotels, but I'd pay for them myself and be reimbursed by the ministry.

On Wednesday morning I met Augustina at the airport, and we chatted in the boarding area and on the plane. That was great, since she remembered dozens of little things she'd forgotten to tell me. My car was waiting at the Salta airport, so I signed the papers and we left for the first school. When we arrived, we were taken to the administrator's office, and Augustina explained what our plan was for the day and who we'd like to meet. The administrator seemed prepared for us, almost too prepared. Augustina said that the schools were given one week's notice of our visit and generally had things rehearsed. We met the teachers and staff, we talked to the language teachers, sat in on a few minutes of a few of their classes, and reviewed class plans and student records. It seemed like a good way of gathering the information we needed to fill out the online evaluation forms. After that we were given a quiet office and had just enough time to fill out the forms before the school closed its doors. Augustina typed a courteous note in the Ephemeral Commentary section. We then checked into the hotel and decided to stroll around for a little while before having dinner at the hotel restaurant.

At dinner she was much more relaxed and told me that at first it would take her two or three hours in the evening to finish filling out the forms but she picked up speed and so would I. She also told me several more things she'd forgotten to mention and then said that she thought I'd do very well on the job, since I was polite, well dressed and respectable looking, and that my language skills would give me credibility. She warned me that I might need to be firm sometimes and insist on seeing all the records, and that occasionally an administrator might try to offer me a gift to sway my evaluations. She said, "I never need those little things, but occasionally I accept them just to be gracious. It doesn't matter. But be careful -- if you are ungracious and give them an unfavorable review, it might cause them to appeal the evaluation. You need to avoid that!" We retired to our rooms and met again at breakfast. I had made a list of some of the bureaucratic phrases she had used the previous day and asked her to review them. She said they were all useful and gave me a few more.

The school we visited that day was less prepared for our visit (that's fine), but seemed to have higher standards. Augustina still did most of the talking, and occasionally she had to gently complain that records were incomplete or that a teacher was unavailable for the interview. "I always speak to the teachers in Spanish, but for you, when you talk to an English or French teacher, speak that language unless they're really too afraid to. It's one of the advantages you have."

We worked on the forms, and because of the problems with the records, it took until early evening. In the end the school got a mediocre rating for record keeping but, more importantly, a high rating for quality of language teaching. The next morning I checked my route and my next hotel, drove Augustina to the airport, and headed off.

I checked into my hotel that evening and tried to prepare mentally for that day's visit. After breakfast, I walked to the school, since it was so close, and introduced myself. They were prepared for my visit and had everyone I needed to talk to ready for their interviews and classroom visits. I did the interview with the English teacher in English. She was a little nervous and her pronunciation wasn't great, but her grammar and vocabulary were first-rate. Fortunately the online forms were granular enough to record those details. I felt that it was a fine visit, and I was able to complete the forms by 10:00 that night. The next school was in the same town, so I could start there at 9:00 the next morning.

This day's school was very good in most respects, but everybody seemed to be on edge. They all -- from the administrator (Pedro Gómez) to the teachers and even the secretary -- seemed nervous and insecure. I couldn't figure it out, but I came to the conclusion that the tone is set by the person at the top, who just seemed like a high-stress guy. As usual, the administrator and a teacher took me to lunch, and instead of general topics, they talked about issues at the school. I had to reassure them that so far everything looked at least average and maybe above average. I started working on the forms while still at the school and continued in my hotel room after dinner. I'd just about finished when I heard a knock at the door.

I opened the door to find a very tarty-looking woman -- short skirt, funny-colored big hair, way too much makeup, and fishnet stockings. "Meester Miguel," she said, "I'm a friend of Pedro Gómez, who said you might like some company this evening. I can show you a good time, I assure you." I invited her in to get her out of the hallway, but I said, "There must be a mistake. Nothing against you, but this situation doesn't correspond to my taste." She smiled and tried to be persuasive, but I wasn't having it. I gave her $50.00 and asked her to please leave. Was this an example of the "gifts" Augustina had mentioned? I was sure I wouldn't have a good time with a woman dressed like that, and I wasn't going to put up with her just to be gracious. I finished filling out my forms, and typed "Tarty women are not to my taste" in the Ephemeral Comments section. The report came out much more favorable than I'd initially thought, and I remembered Augustina's formula -- don't give an unfavorable report and be ungracious. I knew my comment was rude, but figured that the rudeness would be overshadowed by the conclusions of the report. I clicked Save and then Submit. I watched TV for a while and went to sleep, happy to be alone that night.

The next city also had two schools on my list, so I headed off the next morning. That day's school visit was fairly uneventful. One of the English teachers spoke with near-native pronunciation and fluency, and the other's teaching technique seemed really effective for the students, so the school got high marks for them. The student records were hard to deal with, though, and they lost some points for that. At lunch the administrator and two of his staff talked about a variety of pleasant topics. I was beginning to feel that the job was manageable, something I could learn to do efficiently and well.

The next day's school was a little bigger and more businesslike. I introduced myself first to the administrator, Raúl Sosa, and he took me around to the teachers' lounge and introduced me there. I explained what I was going to do and what I'd need access to. My impression was that things would go smoothly, and they did except that I found some incomplete lesson plans that would cost them a few points. I started my report at the school, but planned to finish back at the hotel. After I put my things in my room, I went down to the bar for a drink before dinner. It was a lively place. I was a little surprised when a flamboyantly dressed gay man sat next to me and started a pleasant conversation. I was happy to be talking to somebody, so I responded in generic terms, but then he changed the topic and said he was a friend of Mr. Sosa and would be happy to spend the evening with me. I said I wouldn't mind chatting for a moment but added that there must be a mistake, that what he was suggesting didn't match my preferences. We had a polite conversation for a few more minutes, but then I told him I wanted to have dinner alone. I sat there at my table wondering what I could have done or said to Mr. Sosa that made him think I was gay. Did I need to cultivate a more macho manner? Such things are hard to interpret when you've just arrived in a country. I had time to think about it while driving to the next town, which also had two schools.

The next morning as I got dressed, I decided to put a little less care into tying my tie and thought about how I walked. I had a good look at the manner and affect of the men around me but didn't see any difference between their behavior and that of other Latin American men. I was puzzled. Suddenly I thought about my ephemeral commentary to Pedro Gómez: "Tarty women are not to my taste." Were the administrators sharing information, and did Mr. Sosa misinterpret my comment? What a silly idea.

That day's school was the best I'd seen in almost every respect. It seemed like a pleasant environment with well-qualified people and high standards. The administrator took me to lunch alone, and we had a pleasant conversation. We sat near a window and did some people-watching, a very popular activity in Argentina, and he made some comments about the women passing by. Since he brought up the topic, I felt free to participate in a low-key way and also made a few flattering comments about some of the passing women. They were nicely dressed and attractive, so I pointed out what I liked about a few of them. I made no comment about the dressed-down women.

That night I finished filling out my forms in record time. It was a pleasure to audit a school such as the one I'd visited today.

The next day was a different story, almost a repeat of the Sosa school, with an uptight administrator (Pablo Oviedo) and an anxious staff. In this case, though, they had reason to worry. There was nothing terrible, but there was nothing that was really up to standards. I had to work extra hard to get the information, and I knew I'd need a lot of firm details to justify the report I'd give them. I left without starting my report, thinking that I'd need the privacy of my hotel room to agonize over it.

I started filling it out but then needed to take a break. I sat at the bar having a drink, wondering about my dilemma, when a nicely dressed young woman came over to me and started making conversation. She had an average-looking face, but I found her smile charming, and she seemed to have a nice figure. I offered her a drink, and she asked me about where I was from. My accent revealed to anyone that I wasn't from Argentina. After a while I asked her if she had come for dinner, and she said yes but her party didn't show up. So we got a table and ordered dinner. She seemed educated and had lots of things to say and ask me. For a conversation with a stranger in a bar, it went very smoothly, and she really seemed to enjoy talking to me. At a couple of points she even leaned forward and touched my hand, in a way that almost seemed affectionate. But how could I interpret that? I'd had a couple of drinks, and decided to enjoy the moment and go with the flow. How often do I get to have dinner with an attractive, interesting young woman?

At dessert things picked up even more. She touched my hands more and pulled her chair a little closer to mine. She really looked me in the eyes and seemed really appealing. Then she undid her top two blouse buttons. She mentioned Mr. Oviedo and said she thought that we could have a really good time together. By then I was so enthralled that I could barely make a decision. I reflected on how ungracious it would be to turn down such an attractive woman, how rude and ridiculous it would be for me to say that she didn't match my taste. Before I knew it, "Would you like to come up to my room with me?" came out of my mouth and I found myself placing one foot in front of the other in the direction of the elevator.

As soon as we entered the room, she gave me a long, tight hug. I responded by touching her face and then moving my hand down to her breasts. She seemed to really like that. But I didn't want to rush things. I reached up to the top open blouse button and undid it, then the next one. Then I touched her skin and her bra that I'd exposed. She could see that I was working carefully so as not to damage the blouse. After the next button, she pulled the blouse out from the skirt, so I was free to continue unbuttoning. Finally I gently removed the blouse, and she took off my shirt. Instead of going straight for the bra fastener, which I guess most men would've done, we sat down on the bed and I touched all her exposed skin and played a little with the bra cups. I felt lucky to be with a woman with a generous figure. Then I found and undid the skirt fastener, and removed the skirt. So far I was following the procedure from Betty (the gabby American woman) fairly closely.

Unfortunately removing the skirt exposed a rather chubby midriff with deep lines left by the elastic bands. I was distracted for a moment, wondering how many extra pounds I saw there. But I was soon back in the moment, touching all the newly exposed skin and deciding to finally deal with the bra fastener. Once again I was in no hurry, but took a decent amount of time removing the bra, caressing as I went. The breasts were larger than I'd calculated beforehand, but of course there seems to be always a trade-off between breast size and shape, so in this case we were dealing with a degree of flabbiness that I hadn't counted on. It gave me pause for just a few seconds, but then I was back on task, realizing I had plenty to caress and enjoy, and I did that for several minutes. I almost lost track of time. After we finished taking off each other's clothes, I suggested we take a shower, pointing out there was a shower cap so she could keep her hair dry.