Apart altogether from the normal excessive charges in the ordinary hotels, which one comes to accept without demur simply because they are universal, a further stage of imposition is to be noted in the swindling propensities of restaurant employees. Thus, I have a note that I was once made to pay $1.05 for one glass of tonic water and gin which I “stood” a friend, and on various occasions I was charged 63 cts. for a glass of whisky and soda, while I had myself consumed frequent glasses of hot water with half-a-lemon squeezed therein and a spoonful of sugar added, at a charge of 27 cts., before I realised that a portion of these casual expenses was finding its way into the pocket of the gentleman with the shifty eyes who presided over a certain “bar” where the drinks were obtained. But the hotel charge of 62 cts. for half an hour’s game of billiards, which conformed in every particular to that imagined by W. S. Gilbert as the punishment of the billiard sharper,—
“On a cloth untrue, with a twisted cue,
And elliptical billiard balls,”—
seemed to me at once an insult and an injury.
Mentioning petty swindling on the part of employees reminds me that the favourite dodge is to return the change of a five peso bill when a ten peso bill has been presented. My patience, though seared by many tiny swindles mutely borne, was never equal to taking the five-pesos-for-ten trick “lying down.” I first became acquainted with it, soon after my arrival, at Retiro station, when taking out a ticket for Hurlingham, the British suburban resort. Presenting a ten peso bill at the booking office, the clerk hastily handed me my ticket and the change of a five peso bill, which fact I discovered only on examining my change after leaving the window. But even at that early period of my stay, my command of the language was good enough to enable me to return to the window and hold up the entire crowd of would-be ticket-buyers, by informing the clerk that I intended to stay there until he handed me another five pesos. He brazenly denied that I had presented a ten peso bill, but on my stoutly asserting that I intended remaining in front of his window till I received another five pesos, he forthwith met my demand, and thereby advertised himself to the entire company the thief he undoubtedly was. I do not exaggerate when I state that on dozens of occasions I had to draw the attention of shop assistants and waiters (especially on dining cars) to the fact that they had made this slight error in my change. When it is remembered that five pesos is no less a sum than $2.10, it will be understood that some slight knowledge of the language is desirable when one goes a-shopping among the petty swindlers of Buenos Ayres.
Perhaps the very apex of audacity in the matter of excessive prices is reached by the chemists, who ought surely to be the richest trades people in all South America. It was our unfortunate experience, as indeed it is the experience of most Northerners who have to live for any length of time in these parts, to be fairly frequent patrons of the drug shop. But no amount of experience reconciled us to the prices that were exacted. Nor do I think the natives ever purchased anything without an inward or outward protest, as I was frequently present at disputes between customer and chemist. I recall particularly a youth who had been sent by his employer to fetch some medicine that had been dispensed for him, and on offering all the money his employer had given him to pay for the medicine, he was found to have brought less than half the price demanded by the chemist.
It was my wife’s unfortunate fate to have to consume a large number of cachets, prescribed by a Porteño doctor, and these I had to purchase weekly at a well-known drug store, paying $2.10 for thirty, the price of which in London would have been 60 cents. Out of curiosity, after two or three weeks, I took the prescription to another chemist—as there is one at every other street corner, the choice is ample—and was supplied with precisely the same articles at $1.05. But the following week, when I returned for a new supply, I was charged $2.10, as at the other chemist’s! On my protesting that I had only paid half that price the previous week, I was informed that as they had a somewhat limited supply of a certain drug used in the prescription, they were forced to charge an increased price, and had therefore added 100 per cent. to the first charge! These prices are typical of everything sold in the chemists’ shops; from soap to chest protectors, there is not a single item that will not cost the purchaser from three to five times the price at which it may be bought in the stores of New York or London.
It will thus be seen that it is a somewhat expensive business to be ill in South America, and as most people, natives included, seem to be in a continual state of recovering from illness (so much so that a familiar greeting among the natives is “Buenas días, y como le pasa su estómago?”—“Good morning, and how’s your stomach?”), the harvest of the chemist fails less frequently than that of the agriculturist. The commonest class of doctor charges a fee of $4.15 if you call upon him for a few minutes’ consultation and are fortunate enough to be admitted before his two hours of work are over, as you will usually find a roomful of patients awaiting his attention. If you indulge in the luxury of inviting a visit from him at your house, his charge will be $8.30, which must be paid on the nail, while payment for a consultation at his rooms is either made to an attendant before entering, or to the doctor himself on leaving. A simple operation, such as that for appendicitis, will cost you anything from $250 to $1000.
Returning again to the smaller items of daily expense which help to drain your earnings away from you as quickly almost as you receive them, I find I have a few further notes worthy of record. At the hotel where we lived, two English servants suddenly appeared. They had been attracted to Buenos Ayres as the new Eldorado, and wages of forty pesos a month had seemed to them the beginning of fortune, especially when they estimated the possibilities of “tips.” But one of them, requiring to buy a new hat after her first fortnight in the city, and being charged twenty-three pesos for the same (about $10), which in London she would have considered fairly expensive at $1.70, she and her companion very speedily made up their minds to return home, prepared to be a little more contented with the conditions they had so lately despised. A peso and a half (63 cts.) was a common charge for hair-cutting—a simple haircut, no shampoo or singeing included, mark you.
As for theatre charges, the opera save in the gallery—where anybody who has any reputation to maintain in the town can not afford to be seen—is possible only to the wealthy, and consequently it is seldom visited by English residents, except when honoured by an invitation from some Argentine friend. A seat in the pit of the commonest theatre costs about $1.30. There is a curious system of paying for your seat and afterwards paying a peso for the privilege of entering the theatre! The cinematographs, which are relatively as numerous as in New York or Chicago, have a uniform charge of 85 cts. for an entertainment that compares badly with those that charge a quarter in New York. Some of them are run on a system of three sections per evening, the admission being 25 cts. to each section, but these are of the cheaper class.