“Poco tiempo,”—wait a little, is the national leveler for all difficulties and broken contracts. You order a suit of clothes to be delivered tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes—neither do the clothes, You get down your dictionary and hunt up all the cuss words you can command, and hurl them at that tailor, and expect to see him shrivel up before you. Does he? Not a shrivel! He offers you a cigarette, carefully rolls one for himself and forces wreaths of smoke through his nostrils, and turning to you says: “Poco tiempo”—what’s your hurry? Manana will do, tomorrow, tomorrow, manana comes, and also another poco tiempo.
You engage a guide and want to go see a place you have come a thousand miles to see, and want to start this afternoon. “Well, why not manana? You Americanos do hurry through life so!” He works two days, carving a wonderful cane he sells for a quarter. His two days tiempo count for nothing. He lives in yesterday and today, but never in tomorrow. He will wait for the millennium but will never go to meet it. He will never hurry from the comforts of today into anxieties of tomorrow. Manana, the panacea for all ills, the Nirvanah.
The language of gesture has a new meaning here. When a person wants you to approach him, he frantically motions you away. When you see your lady acquaintance across the street, and she motions with her fingers and thumb for you to come to her, you must read it backwards because she does not mean it, she is simply recognizing you.
When ladies meet and re-enact the great American humbug of miscellaneous kissing, it is always given and received on the cheek. When two gentlemen meet, they rush into each others arms and rapidly pat each other on the back with the right hand, and finally shake hands, and if they meet each other a dozen times a day, they effusively shake.
At the railway station, the departing friend embraces, pats, shakes, and jumps aboard, If the train is delayed, he gets out again and talks until the conductor cries, “Vamanos!” then he goes through the same performance again with each of his dozen friends, and when half a dozen lugubrious groups are similarly engaged, the conductor simply waits until they have finished.
Indeed, to such an extent does this leave-taking interfere with business that signs are placed up asking the people not to delay business by their long salutations.
At Guanajuato the following sign is tacked up:—“Se suplica a los pasajeros eviten las despididas y saludos prolongadosque retarder la marcha de los carros.”
In all places the innate politeness and courtesy of the people show a study for your comfort. In walking, your Mexican friend insists that you walk on the inside next the wall, while he walks next the street. In accepting an invitation for a carriage drive, you must enter first and accept the rear seat; but if a lady invites a gentleman he is not supposed to accept the rear seat when offered. After the drive your host will alight first and assist you. In the street car, the gentlemen always offer their places to ladies, and salute all passengers when entering and leaving the ear. People have said they also shake hands with the driver, but I do not believe all I hear.
When you are introduced to a gentleman, he tells you his house and all his belongings are yours, giving you the street and number, and says: “Now you know where your house is.” If you admire his horse or his paintings or his wife, he says: “Take them, they are yours.” To be sure you are not expected to take him too literally, but it shows that the French are not the only people who claim politeness as a national trait.
If you are invited to his house for refreshments, you are to precede your host on entering, but he will precede to the door when you signify your readiness to depart.