The Secret to Success: A Humorous Tale of Chespirito in Mexico City
Ah, Mexico City. A place where the air is thick with history, culture, and, yes, the lingering scent of tacos al pastor. But for me, this wasn’t just a city of ancient Aztec ruins and bustling markets—it was a city where a long-held dream would finally come true. How did I find myself there? Well, it was all for a rather serious matter of diplomacy, you see. I was part of a team sent to Mexico to resolve pending agricultural issues between Brazil and the Mexican government. Important stuff. But, and here's the twist, I was also responsible for keeping the logistics in check—arranging phones, cars, hotels, translations, press contacts, and a schedule that could make even the most seasoned diplomat break into a sweat.
The work went well. No major hiccups, except for one tiny detail: the very city I was visiting, the heart of all these negotiations, was also the birthplace of my childhood hero, Roberto Gómez Bolaños—better known to the world as Chespirito or Chaves in Brazil.
Now, let's be clear. I didn’t come to Mexico for a fanboy pilgrimage. I came to do serious work. Yet, as the airplane soared through the clouds, I couldn’t help but think back to all those afternoons spent with Chaves and his hilarious antics. Who could forget those classic lines: “Que bonito, que bonito!” or “Ai, ai, ai!” I mean, the man had a unique gift for making you laugh, even when you didn’t want to.
The trip was supposed to be straightforward. We’d arrive on Wednesday, conduct a series of meetings, and then—ah, then—come the weekend. The best part: our schedule was light on Saturday and Sunday, leaving me with some time to explore the city of the man who had shaped my humor as a child.
As I wandered through a market in Mexico City, I couldn’t resist making a joke to a vendor. “Do you know El Chavo del 8?” I asked, half-expecting him to roll his eyes. His response, however, was far from ordinary. “Oh, of course! He’s a national hero,” the vendor replied with such pride, it almost made me tear up. Then, just to test the waters, I blurted out, “How about I come to your house to take a photo?” He smiled politely but suggested something even better: “Why don’t you come see the play 11 y 12 that I’m performing in tonight?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. The man—who must have been older than my grandmother—was still performing on stage? I rushed back to the hotel and asked the concierge to find out more. And lo and behold, there was a show on Saturday night. I booked my ticket immediately. Or so I thought.
When I arrived at the hotel that evening after a long day of meetings, I was handed a ticket for the show… on Friday night. My heart sank. The catch? On Friday, the Mexican authorities were hosting a dinner in honor of our visit, and guess who was on the guest list? Me. There was no way I could skip out on the dinner. Could I?
Let me tell you, this was a dilemma for the ages. On one hand, I was about to pass up the chance to see Chespirito in the flesh, something I might never get the chance to do again. On the other hand, there was the small matter of my career. Would I really risk my job, my reputation, and the respect of my colleagues for a comedy show? The answer, obviously, was yes. I had to speak to the boss.
Now, imagine this: I, a humble Brazilian bureaucrat, mustered up the courage to approach my intimidating boss and ask if I could skip the dinner to see a Mexican comedian. His response? “Chavez? The president of Venezuela?” “No, no,” I stammered, “Chaves! The comedy genius from Brazil!”
As the room fell silent, all eyes were on me. My boss—an imposing figure who was known for his stern, no-nonsense attitude—looked at me for a moment, and then, in an unexpected turn, he smiled. “Ah, you mean the secret to success?” he said, catching me completely off guard. “Yes!” I exclaimed, nearly bursting into tears. We went on to discuss the brilliance of the show, and finally, I asked, “Would you let me miss the dinner to go see him?”
After a long pause, he nodded. “You can go. But you must bring me an autograph.”
I was stunned. Not only was I going to see Chespirito, but I had also secured my boss’s blessing. I ran out of the hotel faster than a contestant on a game show. I had a photo to get.
In the taxi, I couldn’t help but chat with the driver about Chespirito and his legacy in Mexico. He was just as excited as I was. When we reached the theater, I rushed to the front and, in true fanboy fashion, asked if I could meet Roberto Gómez Bolaños. The answer? No.
But I wasn’t about to give up. I spun a tale about delivering a gift from Brazil to Roberto and—voilà!—I was given a backstage pass.
The second act was a blur. My heart raced as I waited for the show to end. When the final curtain dropped and the applause erupted, I was on the edge of my seat. This was it. I was about to meet the man who had made my childhood unforgettable.
After what seemed like an eternity, a burly stagehand led me to the backstage area, where I was greeted by none other than Doña Florinda herself—Florinda Meza. I could hardly believe it. “Doña Florinda!” I shouted, and before I knew it, I was hugging her like a long-lost relative. Then, the moment I had dreamed of arrived: Roberto Gómez Bolaños stepped out from behind the curtain.
I froze. I trembled. I couldn’t speak. But somehow, I managed to tell him that my boss had given me permission to skip the dinner for this once-in-a-lifetime encounter. And with that, he signed an autograph for my boss.
When I returned to the hotel and shared the news with my colleagues, no one believed me. They all assumed I’d made the whole thing up. That is, until I pulled out the autograph. And the photo. At that moment, I realized something: the real secret to success wasn’t just about navigating bureaucratic hurdles or managing logistics. It was about seizing the moments that matter, even if they seem completely ridiculous.
The funny thing? After this unforgettable adventure, my boss trusted me with more important responsibilities, and—believe it or not—I even got a salary raise. So, there you have it. In the world of diplomacy, sometimes, all it takes is a little Chaves to get ahead.