oh NO you jus' dint
Lemme tell you, friends.
Today Spain has made me hot. And I don't mean is just the temperature-sense of the word. I mean in the heated, huffy, inflamed, pissed sense of the word.
There have been THREE incidents in the last 24 hours that have left me utterly flabbergasted and entirely indignant.
In the words of William Shakespeare (which I will always remember from the abridged version of A Midsummer Night's Dream we performed in 6th grade)...
"I am amazed and know not what to say!"
I explain.
Well... yesterday was actually a day from a fairy tale. It was wonderful. It was kinda a "last hoorah" for Mari, Sylvia, and I as roommates before Sylvia gets married on the 28th and Mari moves to Barcelona on the 30th. We went to the Arab baths for a 2 hr circuit in the fancy baths (warm bath, hot bath, cold bath, salt bath, jacuzzi, sauna) and a 25 min massage, then to a nice
restaurant for lunch, to a favorite spot for iced café con leche, a little shopping through the centro, the last fitting of Sylvia's wedding dress after which we take it home, rent a movie, and eat kebabs in ou
r salón. As Sylvia said, it was like being on vacation in our own city.
BUT this is what happened.
Incident #1:
During my 25 minute massage (which in my perhaps slightly pretentious opinion is a short massage), I note the masseuse to become more and more lax with her massaging of my ankle. She is only using one hand. And it's not moving. It's the same lazy movements. Then I hear a "clickety clickety, clickety, clickety." And I think "nooooooooo, that can't be." But her hand doesn't move from that spot. In fact it even pauses. So I turn around enough to confirm my suspicions and SEE her texting on her mobile phone. YEP. TEXT MESSAGING. DURING my massage. She was holding it so she could see it in the light that was coming from the door that she left partially open (also a tacky move, but I'm picking my battles.) So when we're only talking 25 minutes of massaging... 4 minutes of texting is a pretty hearty chunk proportionally. Not to mention that it is sooooo the opposite of relaxing for the PAYING client. Tensing in fact.
So, to make a long story short, I decided to be a proactive and bold Julie Ann (which I've pretty much got covered in English, but it's been something I'm having to teach myself in Spanish). I asked for an "hoja de reclamaciones" which is the super official government complaint form that virtually every business/establishment in the country has. They're taken fairly seriously and are decently threatening.
Anyway... one of the receptionists is horrified and slightly tries to dissuade me from filling it out while the second one hands me the paper because its against the law to prevent someone the opportunity to complete the form when they've asked for it. This second receptionist also alludes to the fact that this is not the first time this has happened! (Whaaaaaat? This place is nice, it's not like your joe-blow salon, it's like a snazzy historical site recognized by the government of Andalucia.)
So, I fill it out and the nice receptionist goes and gets the "head masseuse." And now thinking back on it and talking over it with Sylvia and Mari... the head masseuse was pretty ugly about it all. She surreptitiously offered me another massage performed right then (ie after I had showered and dressed and had a full day planned), but said with the form completed I would have to wait a month for it to be processed. (Fine by me, I live here.) Through more talky-talky and subtle rudeness as if this woman were appalled by my "shockingly implausible" accusation which the receptionist had confirmed was not all that incredulous, I identify which girl was my masseuse, the woman offers a half-hearted cold apology saying she will go talk to the masseuse, and we (Sylvia, Mari, I, and my completed form) get up to go. We chat with nice receptionist, and I explain how I just thought it was better for them as a company if they knew. She (and Mari and Sylvia) affirm my actions, and we turn to leave. No sooner do we get out of the door when the head masseuse comes running up and says "ooh, just one more question. I've just talked with the girl, and she doesn't have her mobile on her now, but said that she was messing with her watch. Are you sure you saw a mobile?"
Whaaaaaaaat? Excuse me? Now you're calling me a liar? Done. I am sooooo turning the complaint form to the Oficina Municipal de Información al Consumidor. Take that.
Moving on.
I've been getting up at 7am lately to run before the merciless heat of Sevilla sets in at, oh, about 8:30am. So this morning I'm running on the great carril bici (those fabulous green bike lanes I wrote about earlier) because I read in the newspaper that wheel chairs, rollerbladers (yep, they still exist here), and RUNNERS are all allowed to use the carril bici. And I'm pondering the happenings of Incident #1 from the day before... you know, deliberating what I SHOULDA said or SHOULDA done, the typical.
Incident #2:
Then these two women, age 45 to 50ish, come riding by on their city bikes and start LITERALLY physically PUSHING me off of the carril, screaming about how I need to get out of the way, and dinging their dumb little bells at me. All the while I'm screaming "siiiiiiii, aquí se pueeeedeeeee" back at them. (Look at how proactive this Julie Ann is becoming in Spanish, wahoo.) Not the day to mess with me, Spain, Julie Ann is angry and assertive.
Moving on.
I continue my run, now contemplating both Incidents #1 and #2, replaying them in my mind and inventing better ways of telling off all parties involved in Spanish. Then the final and most horrible incident of all occurs.
Incident #3:
I am running in my brown yoga pants and Wal-Mart purchased white men's undershirt, and I feel someone COMPLETELY grab my ENTIRE left butt cheek and squeeze.
Horrified, I think "who in the WORLD do I know around here (that would be awake at this hour) well enough to handle my bum in such a manner?"
Then I realize that this RANDOM MAN (as in MAN in a business suit, tie, and helmet, not some punk teenager) on a moto/motorcycle thing has shot out of the normal traffic flow, lept up ONTO the carril bici/bike lane, and crossed it to where I am running on the dirt between the bike lane and sidewalk ... all to grope my ass. (I'm sorry, but this occurrence can only be appropriately described in such a vulgar manner as that.)
As he zips past me and I actualize and register the details of what just happened, all I can think is "I wanna punch him, I wanna punch him." I actually run faster after him with the intention of bodily harm. He once again crosses the carril bici and maneuvers himself back onto the road disappearing between cars into the four lanes of traffic. I am SO livid and outraged at the harassment that I SCREAM out a Spanish expletive after him.
I don't even care. I was just accosted. OH.
IT WASN'T EVEN 8AM IN THE MORNING!!
As my directora pointed out... the perv-o hadn't even yet had his café, went WAY out of his way and broke laws just to grab my ass... just to get his Thursday morning jollies at MY expense. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Pure violation.
So there you go... physically abused and sexually molested before 8am (after being morally insulted less than 24 hours before).
I'm done. I'm so over Spain at the moment.
I went into work this morning and was like "I am sooooo ready for my American vacation. I need some USA."
Me toca.
Today Spain has made me hot. And I don't mean is just the temperature-sense of the word. I mean in the heated, huffy, inflamed, pissed sense of the word.
There have been THREE incidents in the last 24 hours that have left me utterly flabbergasted and entirely indignant.
In the words of William Shakespeare (which I will always remember from the abridged version of A Midsummer Night's Dream we performed in 6th grade)...
"I am amazed and know not what to say!"
I explain.
Well... yesterday was actually a day from a fairy tale. It was wonderful. It was kinda a "last hoorah" for Mari, Sylvia, and I as roommates before Sylvia gets married on the 28th and Mari moves to Barcelona on the 30th. We went to the Arab baths for a 2 hr circuit in the fancy baths (warm bath, hot bath, cold bath, salt bath, jacuzzi, sauna) and a 25 min massage, then to a nice
restaurant for lunch, to a favorite spot for iced café con leche, a little shopping through the centro, the last fitting of Sylvia's wedding dress after which we take it home, rent a movie, and eat kebabs in ou
r salón. As Sylvia said, it was like being on vacation in our own city.BUT this is what happened.
Incident #1:
During my 25 minute massage (which in my perhaps slightly pretentious opinion is a short massage), I note the masseuse to become more and more lax with her massaging of my ankle. She is only using one hand. And it's not moving. It's the same lazy movements. Then I hear a "clickety clickety, clickety, clickety." And I think "nooooooooo, that can't be." But her hand doesn't move from that spot. In fact it even pauses. So I turn around enough to confirm my suspicions and SEE her texting on her mobile phone. YEP. TEXT MESSAGING. DURING my massage. She was holding it so she could see it in the light that was coming from the door that she left partially open (also a tacky move, but I'm picking my battles.) So when we're only talking 25 minutes of massaging... 4 minutes of texting is a pretty hearty chunk proportionally. Not to mention that it is sooooo the opposite of relaxing for the PAYING client. Tensing in fact.
So, to make a long story short, I decided to be a proactive and bold Julie Ann (which I've pretty much got covered in English, but it's been something I'm having to teach myself in Spanish). I asked for an "hoja de reclamaciones" which is the super official government complaint form that virtually every business/establishment in the country has. They're taken fairly seriously and are decently threatening.
Anyway... one of the receptionists is horrified and slightly tries to dissuade me from filling it out while the second one hands me the paper because its against the law to prevent someone the opportunity to complete the form when they've asked for it. This second receptionist also alludes to the fact that this is not the first time this has happened! (Whaaaaaat? This place is nice, it's not like your joe-blow salon, it's like a snazzy historical site recognized by the government of Andalucia.)
So, I fill it out and the nice receptionist goes and gets the "head masseuse." And now thinking back on it and talking over it with Sylvia and Mari... the head masseuse was pretty ugly about it all. She surreptitiously offered me another massage performed right then (ie after I had showered and dressed and had a full day planned), but said with the form completed I would have to wait a month for it to be processed. (Fine by me, I live here.) Through more talky-talky and subtle rudeness as if this woman were appalled by my "shockingly implausible" accusation which the receptionist had confirmed was not all that incredulous, I identify which girl was my masseuse, the woman offers a half-hearted cold apology saying she will go talk to the masseuse, and we (Sylvia, Mari, I, and my completed form) get up to go. We chat with nice receptionist, and I explain how I just thought it was better for them as a company if they knew. She (and Mari and Sylvia) affirm my actions, and we turn to leave. No sooner do we get out of the door when the head masseuse comes running up and says "ooh, just one more question. I've just talked with the girl, and she doesn't have her mobile on her now, but said that she was messing with her watch. Are you sure you saw a mobile?"
Whaaaaaaaat? Excuse me? Now you're calling me a liar? Done. I am sooooo turning the complaint form to the Oficina Municipal de Información al Consumidor. Take that.
Moving on.
I've been getting up at 7am lately to run before the merciless heat of Sevilla sets in at, oh, about 8:30am. So this morning I'm running on the great carril bici (those fabulous green bike lanes I wrote about earlier) because I read in the newspaper that wheel chairs, rollerbladers (yep, they still exist here), and RUNNERS are all allowed to use the carril bici. And I'm pondering the happenings of Incident #1 from the day before... you know, deliberating what I SHOULDA said or SHOULDA done, the typical.
Incident #2:
Then these two women, age 45 to 50ish, come riding by on their city bikes and start LITERALLY physically PUSHING me off of the carril, screaming about how I need to get out of the way, and dinging their dumb little bells at me. All the while I'm screaming "siiiiiiii, aquí se pueeeedeeeee" back at them. (Look at how proactive this Julie Ann is becoming in Spanish, wahoo.) Not the day to mess with me, Spain, Julie Ann is angry and assertive.
Moving on.
I continue my run, now contemplating both Incidents #1 and #2, replaying them in my mind and inventing better ways of telling off all parties involved in Spanish. Then the final and most horrible incident of all occurs.
Incident #3:
I am running in my brown yoga pants and Wal-Mart purchased white men's undershirt, and I feel someone COMPLETELY grab my ENTIRE left butt cheek and squeeze.
Horrified, I think "who in the WORLD do I know around here (that would be awake at this hour) well enough to handle my bum in such a manner?"
Then I realize that this RANDOM MAN (as in MAN in a business suit, tie, and helmet, not some punk teenager) on a moto/motorcycle thing has shot out of the normal traffic flow, lept up ONTO the carril bici/bike lane, and crossed it to where I am running on the dirt between the bike lane and sidewalk ... all to grope my ass. (I'm sorry, but this occurrence can only be appropriately described in such a vulgar manner as that.)
As he zips past me and I actualize and register the details of what just happened, all I can think is "I wanna punch him, I wanna punch him." I actually run faster after him with the intention of bodily harm. He once again crosses the carril bici and maneuvers himself back onto the road disappearing between cars into the four lanes of traffic. I am SO livid and outraged at the harassment that I SCREAM out a Spanish expletive after him.
I don't even care. I was just accosted. OH.
IT WASN'T EVEN 8AM IN THE MORNING!!
As my directora pointed out... the perv-o hadn't even yet had his café, went WAY out of his way and broke laws just to grab my ass... just to get his Thursday morning jollies at MY expense. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Pure violation.
So there you go... physically abused and sexually molested before 8am (after being morally insulted less than 24 hours before).
I'm done. I'm so over Spain at the moment.
I went into work this morning and was like "I am sooooo ready for my American vacation. I need some USA."
Me toca.
posted by Julie Ann at 4:21 PM
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