The bitchy world of Tango

Here in Buenos Aires, you enter the milonga and wait for the host or hostess, who seats you in what will be your spot for the duration of the night. That seat becomes your home base, your property, your spot. I’ve had hosts mix up seat assignments at milongas once or twice, which is usually easily resolved, but I’ve never had another woman deliberately take my seat until last night.

At last night’s milonga I had been seated in my favorite little spot, and I was sure to mark my seat by putting my jacket on it, as well as my purse while I danced. When I came back after a tanda, I saw a woman sitting in my seat, talking to her friend.

“Excuse me,” I said, thinking that perhaps there had been some confusion, “This is my seat.” She looked at me and shrugged her shoulders and kept talking to her friend.

A woman nearby saw this and said to me, “tap her on the shoulder and tell her again.”

Not knowing what else to do, I tapped her on the shoulder and when she turned around I said, “This is my seat. I was given this seat and it has all of my things on it.”

She said, “Well I’m going to sit here now because I want to talk to my friend. I already told the organizer.” (She did not, by the way).

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I sure was feeling not only confused, but a little pissed off. I wasn’t sure whether to argue or to be nice. Being “nice” here can sometimes lead to one’s demise in the sometimes wicked world of Tango. On the other hand, I didn’t want trouble, and I hate being anything other than nice.

The woman who had witnessed this, stepped in on my behalf and told her, “Che, when you see a jacket and a purse on a chair, it means it belongs to someone else. Common sense. You can’t take that seat. You want a seat, go ask the organizer.”

They argued a bit and the girl in my seat finally got up and stormed off. I took my seat back as fast as I could. The girl’s friend, who was seated in front of me, turned around and said, “Excuse me, but my friend is special. She knows the people here and she wants to sit with her friends.” I bit my tongue to avoid telling her what “special” means where I come from. I just said, “Well, this is my seat. It has my things. I shall sit in it.”

The organizer of the milonga came over and we explained the situation to him. Since I had gotten my seat back, there wasn’t much for him to do, except find the girl and give her the seat next to me, which had been free. And so, she sat there.

Yes, that’s right there had been an empty seat next to me the whole time. But you can’t just take empty seats either. For all you know it could be reserved, so I wasn’t going to move to it and I wasn’t going to offer it. The host decides where you sit, not you, and certainly not some bratty young milonguera.

Perhaps the whole idea of owning one’s seat might not sound very normal to some, but here it’s the way it is. And you have to make sure you keep your seat because if there is confusion and someone takes it or is accidentally seated there by the hostess, and it’s a crowded night, you are left with no place to sit. No fun for a girl in Comme il Faut heels.

From this I have learned that I can’t be so “nice” all the time at milongas. You kind of have to fight for yourself here.

I was proud of myself, by the way, for having carried all of this out in Castellano.