Cultural Banter: No, No Soy Prostituta

So I’m going to share one of my favorite stories from Spain. It happened my first weekend ever in Toledo two years ago. The girls, I was studying abroad with, and I went to our first clubbing experience. There, another one of the girls (we’ll call her ‘C’) and I met these 2 ‘muy guapo’ guys. We stayed later than the other girls and walked around the city with our new ‘friends’. Before we knew it, it was almost 7am. The boys took a taxi back to their apartment a few miles outside of town. C walked me back to Zocodover, the main city center, to see when the buses would start up for the morning. Discovering that I still had an hour wait, we went to look for a taxi. We compiled our money and realized that I didn’t have enough to get back. It had started to rain so walking was out of the question. C offered to run back to her house and grab some extra money for me. I sat on a bench as dawn arrived waiting for her.

All of a sudden, I hear a man’s voice. I turn around to see a taxi driver waving me over to him. Not sure what was happening, I walked over to see what he wanted. He asked me if I needed a ride home. I said ‘Yes’ but that I was waiting for my friend to bring me some money. He asked where I lived and I gave him the general neighborhood as I began to feel a little creeped out. He said he would drive me for free. Skeptical and thinking I miss understood him (of course, this conversation was in Spanish), I just stared in confusion. He had to be at least 60 years old, bald with a few missing teeth. After a few awkward seconds, he repeated himself. Sure enough I understood him correctly but then he gave me the other half of the agreement. He would drive me for free to my place IF he could take a nap with me in MY bed! I looked at him dumbfounded for what felt like 10 minutes. After, I kindly declined and quickly walked away. Luckily, C came back within the next 2 minutes where I walked a few blocks down the road to find another taxi to go home.

This is one event that I think will stay with me for a long time. It was the first of many times that I would be propositioned by a man simply for the color of my hair. This particular night, I told myself, should have been a little expected. After all, I was a blonde dressed a bit provocatively since I just came from the bars. Plus how does it look, a young blonde sitting alone in the rain at 7 in the morning. What man wouldn’t think I was a real ‘Working Girl’?

Well over 2 years have passed since this awkward experience. I have come to accept the attention being a natural blonde in Spain gets me. So I still get the occasional car beep and ‘guapa’ yelled from Spanish men of all ages and sizes. However, I have learned to simply give a little grin and keep walking past. Being a bit too old for super-minis and tube tops these days, I have successfully kept away any sexual propositions from men assuming I was working for the ‘dinero’ (if you get my drift)…

That was until a few weeks ago. I had just left my friend Craig from a nice dinner followed by a few martinis in my neighborhood. It was a Friday night but having worked all day, I wasn’t feeling like going out ‘BIG’ so I was walking home by midnight. (Sounds late but remember, we don’t eat dinner here until 9.30- 10pm) Anyways, I was a few blocks away from my apartment about to turn a corner onto my side-street. As I approached this woman comes trudging past me with a hand cart (used to carry groceries) I didn’t pay that much attention though I thought it was weird that a woman her age would be out with a cart when clearly all supermarkets had been closed for hours. Not giving it another thought, I kept my eyes straight ahead as we started to cross paths going in the opposite direction. Out of nowhere, I hear this woman start mumbling under her breath.

I laughed in silence as this was a common sight in Madrid- older people that tended to be a bit off their rocker and walked the streets alone talking to themselves or at best their dogs. But as we were about even with each other, her mumbling got louder and louder until I realized that she was talking to me. Having zoned out of actually listening to her, it took me a minute to start translating what she was saying. By the time I could, this woman was pointing her finger in my face, half-screaming at me.

(Translated version):

“Why are you here? We don’t want your kind here! Why don’t you go back to your own country and leave our men in peace. What kind of person are you? You should be ashamed! “

I was so shocked and at first couldn’t figure out what had started this woman’s rant. Yes, I was blonde but there was no way she could tell I was an American; therefore, I knew that wasn’t the reason. Several passersby had stopped to watch this spectacle. I really wish that someone was videotaping my reaction because I can’t even imagine the dumbfounded look on my face. Which was a thought that actually crossed my mind that I was on some hidden camera show.

Well, by the time I could muster up a ‘Perdóname?” the woman had already taken off in the opposite direction. My eyes followed her as it finally occurred to me what she meant. Absolutely appalled, I yelled back, “No soy prostituta!!!” As I realized that she was too far gone to hear my delayed response, I quickly added, more to myself, “Soy profe de ingles!” (I’m an English teacher!) I stood there for a few more seconds trying to figure out what in the hell just happened. I continued slowly back to my apartment as I replayed the scene in my mind. Why did this woman think I was a prostitute? I wasn’t wearing anything provocative in the least. I had on jeans and my chucks with my pea coat and a knit hat. Not exactly my best “come hither boys” outfit. I walked into my apartment where my roommate Dani was watching TV on the couch. He looks up and asked, “Que tal tu noche?” (How was your night?) I looked at him still with an expression of disbelief and asked “Do I look like a prostitute to you?”