Day 25: The disadvantages of being a foreigner

Two of my friends had told me this week that they had a gig at the shopping mall in Ribeirao Preto. It was Saturday at 5:00. After I had worked a little this morning, Cynthia and Catrina asked if I wanted to come with them to get my nails done. The price was cheap: fifteen reias for a manicure. That's about $7.50 American dollars. As we were driving there Cynthia warned me, "If they ask you if you want exfoliating lotion, say no, because it costs more and they don't tell you." Inside, the salon was hectic and noisy. I stood around dumbly until someone led me to a manicure station. After about 10 minutes a woman came by. After the first question she asked, I had to tell her that I was not from here, and could she speak a bit more slowly. She asked again: did I want square or round shaped nails? "Square," I smiled and she did, too.

It was so noisy and busy in the salon that, 10 minutes later, I didn't even notice she had pulled out exfoliating lotion until she was rubbing it all over my hands. Now, in the U.S., I may have said something, but even then the chances that I would let it slide are likely, unless I'm hard pressed for cash. Being in a foreign country where I can hardly think clearly to begin with because my brain is thinking in half-Portuguese, half-English, I probably wouldn't have been able to stutter anything out anyway. So I kept quiet. At the end, Cynthia told me she would pay for everything, but then she saw that I had used the lotion. I explained that I wasn't warned by the manicurist; that she just put it one without telling me. The receptionist apologized and took the expense off the bill. At that point, I felt silly for not saying something exactly when it had happened.

As we left, I asked Cynthia if she would drop me off at the Shopping Center along the way, because I wanted to go see my two friends sing. I had about 10 minutes until 5:00 once I had arrived. I searched the entire shopping mall--both floors, all wings, and even the parking lot. No musical performance to be seen. I started to get worried. Was I wrong about the time? Was it at some other shopping mall? Yuka had called me today to tell me she wouldn't be going, so I knew it was this evening. Finally, at 5:10, I found a security woman and asked her. She frowned and walki-talkied another security woman, who came over and asked me to repeat myself. I did. The new woman frowned and phoned a third person. When she finished she looked at me and said, "Look, I don't know anything about this, and neither did he. We don't have anything like that going on today that I know of." I thanked her. "But wait," she said, "Your friend who is singing, she has a Spanish accent, too, doesn't she?" Now I frowned. I must be misunderstanding something. "My friend who is singing?" She nodded. "No. She's from here. She's from Minas Gerais." "Hmm," said the woman, "Well, look, I don't know anything about it, okay?"

Okay. So, I left. I missed their performances, which I know my friends wouldn't be mad about, but I had really wanted to go and had been planning on it all week. I walked outside. Now, how was I going to get home? It was 5:30 and Yuka said she would meet me at my house at 7:00 to take me to a festival near her house. Cynthia had told me that the "Leva e Traz," a gratuitous city bus, passed by the house. I saw one waiting to leave and hopped on. I spent a half hour on that bus and it went nowhere near my Condominium. When we arrived back at the shopping mall I asked the woman, "Does this bus go to Condominium Buritis?" "No," she said, "that's the other bus, the green line." I got off. I saw a mototaxi across the street and thought about it, but couldn't bring myself to cross. 10 minutes later another Leva e Traz stopped in front of the mall. I asked the driver, "Excuse me, do you go to Condominium Buritis?" He looked at me, probably translating my accent into a real Brazilian accent. Then he spoke, "No. That's the one right in front of me." "No," I said, "She doesn't pass through there either, I just asked her." He said, "Well, it's the green line that goes through there. And it arrives here at 6:30." There was no way I could wait that long. I wanted to get back and shower before Yuka arrived at my house.

I sighed, held my breath, and crossed the street. "Excuse me," I said to the mototaxist who had just pulled up, "Do you know where Condominium Buritis is?" (All this in my best, most confident Brazilian accent). He thought about it, and nodded, "Yes." "Okay, great, because I don't know how to get there but I need to go there, you see? How much is it?" I gestured to his abhorred bike. "Ten reias," he said. I sighed and said, "Okay, let's go." After he showed me how to put a helmet on, we started driving. I took all my strength not to think about Filipe as I was on that motorcycle, my first motorcycle I'd ever ridden. At one point I almost freaked out, but I calmed myself and, instead of diverting my attention, started to think about what Filipe would think of me doing this. I don't know what he would think, but if he is the same Filipe that lived down here he would have been laughing at my discomfort, but he would have been proud of me for taking the damn mototaxi home. We arrived and I thanked the man. I was proud of me too. I was able to get myself home in a foreign country, even after all the misunderstanding that had happened throughout the whole day. I got into the house and said hi to Cynthia. I told her I had taken a mototaxi home. "How much was it?" She asked. "10 reias," I said. "Oh. That's expensive." Great. I'd been taken advantage of again. What great fun it is to be a foreigner, and to not be able to hide it.

The exfoliating lotion, the missed concert, the security cops, the Leva e Traz, and then the damn mototaxi that I shouldn't have taken in the first place.