Walking Hunched Over.

This post will be a little word-y seeing as I just woke up from a slumber, and recently purchased a new keyboard. Also, before we get into things, I want people to know right off the bat that this blog cannot be taken lightly. This isn´t some thirteen-year-old girls emotional outlet (or is it?). This is a blog for the reckless (but we will be talking about relationships), so if you have a tendency to do dangerous things such as avoid crosswalks and eat without a napkin on your lap, then this is the blogspot for you. I´m only saying this because I am overwhelmed by my 19 followers and I am trying to narrow my reader base down. Anyways, I'll cut the bologna and get to the sandwich..

This is going to sound a bit harsh, but the only thing older than the buildings in Toledo are the people. Some 80% of the people that live inside the walls of Toledo are over the age of 60 years old (I would site my source, but I base my relationships off trust). You are probably thinking to yourself, "every day must seem like bingo night at the VFW..." However, that is not the case. Many younger kids come to Toledo every day from nearby suburbs. There is also a small university in Toledo called the University of Castilla La Mancha, which attracts a number of kids to the area. Furthermore, there is a high school close to my hangout spot (La Plaza de Zocodover) so you can see a good number of kids hanging out around 1 p.m. when they have their break.

One particular day, my stomach was being the impatient stickler that it is, and it demanded a bite to eat. I searched far and wide for the most authentic Spanish cuisine I could find. As I opened the door to the McDonald's, I noticed the line was a bit long, but I decided to tough it out because even my eyes were drooling over the Big Mac they set their sights on. Are you wondering what an eye drool looks like? It's when you see something that you want so bad that you start to perspire from the corners of your eyes. You are right, essentially it is the same as crying.

So, I was crying in the McDonald's, feeling a little more emotionally unstable than usual due to hunger and fatigue when I noticed three, young, Spanish kids pointing and laughing at me. They were all about 15 years old, and immediately I got the vibe that they were the bullies at their school. They looked sweet. Their hair looked as though a mechanic gave them all a head message before they departed for school, and I think they were sponsored by UnderArmor because all of their clothes were tighter than necessary. However, for some reason, these kids were making fun of me!

I stepped closer, and pretended that I wasn't listening to them. I sort of turned my head to the ceiling as if I took a sudden interest in light bulbs (what is that? a 40 watt?). One of the kids, the group leader, was talking too fast for me to make out a proper sentence. Eventually, the bully dumbed it down for me. He repeated the word "jirafa," which means giraffe, and persisted to giggle with his friends like a couple of girls at a middle school dance. I searched for the right words to say back to him, but as you can probably assume my "disses" in Spanish are inadequate. Even if I could have given him a direct translation of what I wanted to say, it wouldn't have hurt his feelings. I probably would have said something like, "well, I bet your far-sighted" or "I hope they put too much mayonnaise on your McChicken." I've never been that good at come-backs.

Anyways, the lady behind the counter called out my order, "Un Big Mac," which sounds hilarious in Spanish, and I decided to eat out on the patio to cleanse myself of the situation. I took one bite of my Big Mac, and it hurt me in all the right places. All the cares I thought I had, disappeared. It felt like Jesus was jump roping on my taste buds. I had already forgotten about the situation when I heard familiar voices. The three kids sat three tables away from me and started to eat their lunch. I avoided eye contact because that is what they say to do on the Animal Planet when you encounter a predator. I tried to focus all of my attention back on the Big Mac, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I sat their eating, waiting to be bullied. Soon enough, the rain came. The group leader (I've seen Mean Girls so I know how this stuff works) repeated "girafa" over and over, and every time I looked up they looked down pretending as if they didn't say anything.

At this point I had to make a decision. However, before I tell you what decision I made, I would like you to understand my thinking. The first option was to get up and leave. However, I didn't want the bullies to know they got the best of me. Also, I didn't want to stand up. If I stood up, it would only bring on more "jirafas." The next option was to stick it out, and finish my Big Mac. This would involve some serious composure. If they were prided on their persistence, I was looking at ten minutes of, what I consider, a hate crime.

My stubbornness made me stay, and I finished my Big Mac in record time without too much gawking. Finally, it all seemed like it was over. However, I was still a bit nervous to get up. My palms were getting sweaty, and I was starting to feel a little more clumsy than usual. Can you imagine the thunderous laughter if I stood up only to fall down? I would be like Russell Crowe in Gladiator, dusting myself off, screaming, "Are you not entertained?!" I quickly checked back into reality and told my imagination to stay out of this one.

I grabbed my backpack from the ground, and felt a new sense of cool as I began to rise from my chair. However, Worse than words, I heard SOUND EFFECTS coming from three tables away. It sounded like, "Ohhhh shhhh Myyy." Pretty soon, he was running over to his friends in the Plaza and pointing to me with an open mouth and wide eyes. By the time I left the Plaza, I felt like a bicycle-riding bear at the circus.

Naked (and alone!),

la jirafa

p.s.

The Mayor of Toledo is trying to pass a law only allowing me to go out at night (like I'm some sort of Gargoyle). Until then, I walk in the shadows.