Wham-Bam-Gracias-Ma'am

I am absolutely terrified of dogs. I hate when dogs look at me, bark at me, get in my personal space, growl at me, and band together to run circles around me as if I could possibly want to play with them.

I don’t want to play with them. I don’t want to acknowledge them. I want them to leave me alone. I am terrified of them.

Yesterday I asked Escafandra to meet me at the Telepizza in Plaza Italia at 7:30. I forgot that I had told her 7:30 though and thought I said 7. She was running late as well, so I spent a good hour plastered to the wall waiting in terror and observing everything that was going on in the plaza.

Telepizza makes me ridiculously uncomfortable. It’s a great meeting spot because everyone knows where it is and there are always people waiting around for friends before going out since it’s so near all of the bars, but it is crawling with scumbags who harass any and every woman who dares to stand outside of Telepizza by herself.

Just like every other time I have waited outside of Telepizza a slew of men ranging from around 14 to 60 took my presence as an opportunity to give me a good long creeper up and down glance. Some looked me right in the eyes and walked right up to only inches away from my face before continuing on their way. Some whispered things at me. Some whistled at me. Some pointed at me and talked about me with their group of friends.

There was a stray dog waiting outside of Telepizza as well. The dog hated men. Every time a man walked too close to it the dog would freak out and bark and chase the trespasser. No man could walk anywhere near the dog without the dog’s fighting back.

None of the men took kindly to the dog’s threatening their personal space or right to be in front to Telepizza. The men freaked out. Each of them felt the need to let the dog know that they were allowed to be in front of Telepizza. They yelled at the dog. They hit the dog with their bags. They barked back at the dog. They made eye contact and got even more into the dog’s personal space. They kicked the dog. They belligerently fought back.

And then once they had won the battle with the dog some would slink over and take my presence as an opportunity to give me a good up and down glance. Some looked me right in the eyes and walked right up to only inches away from my face before continuing on their way. Some whispered things at me. Some whistled at me. Some pointed at me and talked about me with their group of friends.

When it comes to being alone and outside in Santiago the only thing that scares me more than stray dogs is machista men who do not see the irony in their fights with the stray dogs that threaten their presence in public.

I don’t want to play with them. I don’t want to acknowledge them. I want them to leave me alone. I am terrified of them. 

As a person whose main concerns during this election have to do with the issues that face women, I was quick to jump on the Obama train after the Republican National Convention. I was really uncomfortable about the fact some of the only things that anyone said about women had to do with the idea that a woman’s most important role in society is that of a wife and mother. I agree that wives and mothers are worth protecting, but what about us childless unmarried girls who have no interest in obtaining children or husbands? I’m pretty set on the idea that women’s roles are no longer confined to wife/mother/caregiver—so there ended any hope in my having an interest in the Republican Party back in August.

 Then I was super into the Obama campaign. The Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, same sex marriage, access to contraceptives, the right to choose, yahoo! The guy spoke to me. Lately though I have lost a lot of faith even in the Democratic Party because of their campaign across college campuses and aimed at younger first-time voters.

“You never forget your first time” is a message paid for by the Democratic Party that we have seen plastered around campus over the past couple of months reminding us of the importance of voting, but undeniably also reminding us of the importance that has traditionally been placed on a woman’s virginity. In addition to posters, a recent video starring Lena Dunham has been circulating the internet with the same message targeted at young voters.

First and foremost, I am upset because the ad campaign completely disregards the staggering statistics of sexual assault and rape on college campuses. New York University’s student health center reports that 1 in 4 college aged women report experiences that meet the legal definitions of rape or attempted rape, 1 in 5 college women are raped during their college years, 1 in 12 college men admit to having committed acts that meet the definition of rape, most survivors of sexual assault are full-time students, and approximately 1 in 3 of them are first year students between 17 and 19 years old. Given these numbers it seems that a college campus especially is a completely inappropriate place to go around comparing voting to sex and placing importance on “your first time”. I agree that getting people to vote is important but I am mortified that whoever made and put up those posters let it come at the extent of students who have been victims of sexual assault being reminded of how important our society thinks “doing it with the right person” is.

Secondly, empowering women and female sexuality cannot be achieved if you are going to shame virgins. Just like I was up in arms about Rush Limbaugh calling Sandra Fluke a slut for using birth control, I am angry about the Democratic Party’s poking fun at a girl’s “not being ready” to have sex. In the Dunham advertisement she claims, “Also, it’s super uncool to be out and about and someone says, ‘Did you vote,’ and ‘No, I didn’t vote, I wasn’t ready.’” Not being ready to vote and not being ready to have sex are two completely different things that should not be compared. Not being ready to have sex is cool. If you are choosing to not have sex I support you personally and think that you are cool, just like how I support you if you are having sex

I am not suggesting that the “you never forget your first time” campaign should be an excuse to not vote. I already voted and I voted for all Democrats despite my disgust at their targeting virgins this year. What can be taken out of this though is that it is obvious that neither party is completely in tune with the issues that face women in the United States. In an attempt to be quirky and hip, even the Democratic Party proved itself somewhat incompetent at recognizing some of the most important issues that face college students. 

I spent the last two days basically without leaving airports and on what felt like a bazillion airplanes, and as a result hanging out with various different airline employees who deal with customers, as well as my fellow travelers.

One thing that anyone who has ever flown anywhere will probably notice about the airline industry is that when it comes to the careers that involve actually dealing with us as stressed-out travelers, the people hired for these roles are very frequently women. Why? Maybe because we are more patient with annoying people who are screaming at us about something that we have absolutely no control over. Maybe because airlines pay the holders of these positions very very very little—especially in comparison to their corporate career-holders. Maybe because the airlines completely exploit these workers for hours on a whim. Everyone knows that we are used to being forced into jobs where we are exploited and paid less than our male co-workers. Or maybe it is because we are sexy.

So, I was on the last flight of the trip and completely exhausted, but I was having trouble sleeping because after being abroad for a year I realized that I have regained the ability to eavesdrop without even wanting to, which is super overwhelming and disturbing revelation to have amidst an already overwhelming cultural transition. There were two women sitting next to me, one which was a retired flight attendant and the other who had a lot of experience flying around the world because her and her husband used to work all over the world on military bases. They were discussing how in general the airline industry has gone downhill in the last decade—charging for luggage, no free cookies, higher ticket prices, fewer promotions, less luxury in general. Although I was not participating in the conversation, I agree that most of those things are probably true. Just look at all of the airline mergers in the past five years. Obviously in light of an economic recession and high oil prices airlines have been some of the hardest hit companies. Not really surprising.

Then, out of nowhere, the former flight attendant said, “And the flight attendants now are ugly. Back when I was working in the industry that was the most important part of our job, looking good. Now they run around with messy hair, dangly earrings, and they are fat”, at which point she puffed out her cheeks and put out her arms to imitate heaviness. 

Obviously what she said was stupid, ignorant, sexist, and egotistic in that she obviously thinks highly of her own looks. All of that aside, let’s think about the role of a flight attendant and how it has changed.

Before boarding that flight I was sitting by a bunch of grown-up bro-like business men who were bragging about their six month old children pulling themselves across the floor—which, according to them, obviously means that they are going to grow up to be the star quarterbacks of their college football teams. The cool thing about the airline industry is that its usage is an interesting microcosm of how equality in the workplace in general is changing. In the past business travel has been pretty much dominated by men. Now, things are changing and women are too able to incorporate themselves more and more into the corporate world, which means more and more business trips. We are getting paid more, which means that more and more we can afford to take trips with our friends across the world. Which also, luckily, means less sexualization of flight attendants—who have since the dawn of air travel have been employed as eye candy for disgusting business men who want to pay to be weighted on by sexy women.

Obviously this view of the role of the flight attendant has not changed completely, and sexualization of woman attendants for the sake of capitalism is something that we still see around the world. It is why flight attendants get paid very little for very demanding work. It is why people feel like they can treat flight attendants like complete shit for no reason, and they are expected to be submissive about it.

Francis 

He pasado los últimos dos días básicamente sin dejar aeropuertos y lo que se sintió como un montón de aviones, y, como resultado, pasando mucho tiempo conviviendo con varios tipos de trabajadores de líneas aéreas manejando tanto clientes como los demás viajeros.

Una cosa que cualquiera que ha volado a alguna parte se habrá dado cuenta de la industria aérea es que al considerar las carreras involucradas en manejarnos a nosotros como viajeros estresados,  las personas contratadas para estos roles son frecuentemente mujeres. ¿Por qué? A lo mejor porque somos más pacientes con personas irritables que están gritándonos sobre cosas de las cuales no tenemos ningún control. A lo mejor porque las líneas aéreas les pagan a las personas en estas posiciones muy muy muy poco- especialmente en comparación a sus fundadores empresarios. Todos saben que nosotras estamos acostumbradas a que nos metan a estos trabajos a la fuerza, donde somos explotadas y pagadas menos que nuestros compañeros de trabajo hombres.  O a lo mejor es porque somos sexy.

Entonces, yo estaba en mi último vuelo del viaje y completamente agotada, sin embargo, me estaba costando quedarme dormida porque después de estar fuera de mi país por un año me di cuenta que había obtenido la habilidad de escuchar conversaciones ajenas involuntariamente, lo cual es una reflexión super abrumadora y perturbadora en medio de esta transición cultural. Habían dos mujeres sentadas a mi lado, una que era una azafata retirada y la otra quien había tenido gran experiencia tomando vuelos alrededor del mundo porque ella junto a su marido solían trabajar por todo el mundo en bases militares. Estaban discutiendo como en general la industria aérea había caído en la última década-cobrando equipaje, sin galletas gratis, boletos más caros, menos promociones, menos lujos en general. Aunque no estaba participando de la conversación, estuve de acuerdo que la mayoría de esas cosas eran probablemente ciertas. Basta con mirar a las fusiones dentro de las aerolíneas en los últimos cinco años. Obviamente, en el contexto de la recesión económica y los valores altos de petróleo esta empresa ha sido una de las que más duro le ha tocado. Nada de sorprendente.

Entonces, de la nada, la retirada azafata dice “Y las azafatas ahora son feas. Antes cuando yo trabajaba en esta industria eso era lo más importantes del trabajo, verse bien. Hoy en día andan con el pelo desordenado, aros colgantes, y son gordas”, y en ese momento infla los cachetes y abre los brazos imitando la gordura.

Obviamente lo que dijo fue estúpido, ignorante, sexista, y egotista ya que claramente ella piensa muy bien sobre su aspecto. Aparte de todo eso, pensemos sobre el rol de la azafata de vuelo y como éste ha cambiado.

Antes de abordar el vuelo estaba sentada cerca de un grupo de adultos tipo empresarios zorrones quienes estaban alardeando sobre sus hijos de 6 meses que andaban gateando por el suelo-los cuales, según ellos, obviamente significa que iban a crecer a convertirse en jugadores estrellas de los equipos universitarios de football. Lo bacán de la industria aérea es que su uso es un interesante microcosmos de cómo la igualdad en el ambiente de trabajo en general está cambiando. En el pasado el negocio de viajar ha sido prácticamente dominado por hombres. Ahora, las cosas están cambiando  y mujeres también han podido incorporarse más y más en el mundo corporativo, lo cual significa más y más viajes de negocios. Nos están pagando más, lo cual significa que tenemos más y más oportunidades para viajar con nuestros amigos por el mundo. También, y por suerte, significa menos sexualización en asistentes de vuelo-quienes desde el amanecer del transporte aéreo han sido usadas como la vista dulce para empresarios asquerosos que quieren pagar para ser servidos por mujeres sexys.

Obviamente esta visión del rol del asistente de vuelo no ha cambiado completamente, y la sexualización de la azafata mujer por el bien de capitalismo es algo que todavía se ve alrededor del mundo. Es el porqué azafatas son pagadas muy poco por trabajo muy demandante. Es el porqué la gente siente que puede tratar a las azafatas como una mierda sin razón alguna, esperando que sean sumisas.

Francis  

Last week my boss made the mistake of referring to me as an “independent woman” as the direct result of his feeling that I was questioning his authority in calling him out for making a mistake. Among other things, what he said made me reflect on what it means to not be an independent woman, because I have never considered myself independent. Au contraire, the exact opposite, and before this reflection I only had negative connotations associated with the idea of a “dependent woman”.  

This is not to say that there is not obvious value in being financially independent and not depending on a man for anything if you do not want to. I think though that it is worth noting how important it is to be dependent on people, if only for social purposes. A person could go her whole life depending on others, and never depend on a man for a single thing. And lots of people do. Not depending on men does not mean that people should not depend on other people though. Depending on other people is important. We all depend on each other. Everyone should depend on others for things, at least some things.

So this is what I said to him:

Recently I have been having a lot of trouble dealing with the fact that I am completely dependent on others for my survival. Since I have been out of the country for the last year I have not been able to work at all, and it has even come to the point where I had to borrow money from a friend to eat. As someone who has been working in the US since my 16^th birthday I have been seriously struggling with my recent increase in dependency. Last week I realized though that this is just a phase, a phase that is a result of me spending a year abroad and experiencing things that I could not in the US. The positives that have come out of my being here more than outweigh the negatives of being more dependent on people than I would like to be. That being said, it is important to remember that no successful person is successful independently. I will personally always be proud of being dependent on professors for teaching me things, my family for supporting me in ways that have allowed me to go to college, my co-workers for helping me out, and my friends for calling me out when I say something or do something offensive. I am not an independent woman, and I hope to never be an independent woman.

 Francis

“Does anything violent ever happen to the women who work here?” I asked Jenni*. It seemed like an appropriate, though still uncomfortable question, given that she had just finished explaining how she and the other workers are often paid by the rich men for sex in the back room. She paused to think for a second and then her eyes grew big and she got excited, “There are stories about some of the other cafes.” “Stories of men being violent toward the workers?” I asked again, “No, stories of ghosts!”

Jenni told us of a café con piernas that she had worked in a few months earlier that is haunted by a former worker who was killed by one of her customers. The murder happened many years ago and the building had since been transformed into an internet café and then back into a new café con piernas. She explained the strange things that happen around the building; stories of doors mysteriously locking, music turning on and off, and high heels pounding from the floor above. The most notable thing about the ghost tale though was that the woman was not killed inside of the café, but when she went out with a man. When she left the café. When she went outside. The women are haunted by the ghost of a former employee who dared to go outside. Her spirit came back to the new café as a warning for the current employees of the dangers of bringing their work outside.

This story speaks to the role that the cafés con piernas play in Santiago, to their symbolism. Jenni consistently emphasized the danger of working in the sex industry outside of a café, because the cafes have “bosses” who, while taking money from the women even in the cases where the women have sex with their clients, offer at least some sort of protection from the violence of the streets. The fact that cafés con piernas are so normalized in the layout of Santiago Centro that they are just seemingly thoughtlessly scattered about between bookstores and restaurants speaks to a certain power that men have over women in Chilean society—the power that they have to just go into a café with their coworkers during a lunch break and get a $4 lap dance. However, the existence of the cafes does not just speak to the power that men have to exploit lower-class, frequently immigrant, and sex workers in the “safety” of a café con piernas, but they also speak to the danger that faces all women who go dare to go out in public in Santiago. The cafes con piernas have been normalized in Santiago because a machista mindset that has labeled women as commodities has been normalized in Santiago, a mindset that undoubtedly directly contributes to the significantly greater dangers of working as a sex worker outside of a café. In fact, it is not just sex workers that face violence and objectification in the streets, but all women. No woman has the right to be outside by herself in Santiago, and if she dares to do so she subjects herself to sexual harassment, whistling, calls, violence, muggings, creepy stares, groping, rape, murder, etc. Santiago, Chile is a man’s realm.

The workers inside of a café con piernas have been confined to these spaces because they really are the safest option for an industry funded by horny machista men with money. The cafes exist as a constant reminder of the normalization of the use of the female body as a commodity, and also as a constant reminder of the dangers that face all women who venture out into the public sphere in Santiago. They are not just thoughtlessly scattered around El Centro, but very consciously placed there as a reminder that, among other things, women do not belong outside.

*Name has been changed

Francis

“Les ha pasado algo violento a las que trabajan acá?” Le pregunté a Jenni*. Parecía una pregunta apropiada, pero no dejaba de ser incómoda, dado a que recién había terminado de explicarnos cómo los hombres ricos le pagan a ella y a las otras trabajadoras para tener sexo en la sala de atrás. Se detuvo a pensar por un segundo, y después sus ojos se agrandaron y pareció emocionarse, “Hay historias sobre algunos de los otros cafés.” “Historias de hombres siendo violentos con las trabajadores?”, pregunté nuevamente, “No, historias de fantasmas!”

Jenni nos contó sobre un café con piernas en el cual había trabajado hace un par de meses que está embrujado por una ex-trabajadora que fue asesinada por uno de sus clientes. El asesinato ocurrió hace muchos años, y el edificio ha sido transformado desde entonces. Primero fue un ciber café, para luego volver a ser modificado en un café con piernas. Me explicó las cosas extrañas que suceden alrededor del edificio; historias de puertas que se cierran misteriosamente, música que se prende y se apaga, y tacones que se escuchan en el piso de arriba. Sin embargo, lo más notable sobre la historia de fantasmas es que la mujer no fue asesinada dentro del café, sino que cuando salió con un hombre. Cuando salió del café. Cuando salió al exterior. Las mujeres son acechadas por el fantasma de una ex-trabajadora que osó salir al exterior. Su espíritu volvió al nuevo café en forma de una advertencia para las actuales trabajadores. Una advertencia sobre los peligros de llevar su trabajo al exterior.

La historia hable sobre el papel que juegan los café con piernas en Santiago, sobre su simbolismo. Jenni enfatizó constantemente el peligro que significa trabajar en la industria del sexo fuera de un café. Porque los cafés tienen “jefes”, que aunque se quedan con parte del dinero que ganan las mujeres, (aún en el caso que tengan sexo con sus clientes), ofrencen algún grado de protección frente la violencia de la calle. El hecho de que los cafés con piernas estén tan normalizados en el diseño de Santiago Centro, al punto de estar dispersos entre librerías y restaurantes, habla sobre un cierto poder que tienen los hombres sobre las mujeres en la sociedad chilena- el poder que tienen de simplemente entrar a un café durante el recreo de almuerzo y obtener un baile erótico por solo $4. Sin embargo, la existencia de los cafés, no solo habla del poder que tienen los hombres de explotar a trabajadoras de la industria del sexo pertenecientes a una clase social más baja y que generalmente son imigrantes cobijadas bajo la “seguridad” de un café con piernas. Sino que también habla del peligro que enfrentan todas las mujeres que osan salir en público en Santiago. Los cafés con piernas han sido normalizados en Santiago porque una mentalidad machista que ha etiquetado a las mujeres como comodidades ha sido normalizada en Santiago. Una mentalidad que indudablemente contribuye directamente a los peligros significativamente mayores de trabajar afuera de un café. De hecho, no son solo los trabajadores de la industria sexual quienes se enfrentan a la violencia y objetivización de las calles, son todas las mujeres. Ninguna mujer en Santiago tiene el derecho de estar en el exterior por sí sola, y si se atreve a estarlo, está sujeta a abusos sexuales, silbidos, gritos, violencia, asaltos, miradas perturbantes, toqueteos, violación, asesinato, etc… Santiago de Chile es un reino del hombre.

Las trabajadoras dentro de un café han sido confinadas a estos espacios porque efectivamente son la opción más segura dentro de una industria fundada por hombres machistas y calientes que tienen dinero. Los cafés existen como un recuerdo permanente de la normalización que ha adquirido el uso del cuerpo femenino como una comodidad además del peligro constante al que se enfrentan todas las mujeres que se aventuran a salir por la esfera pública santiaguina. No están dispersos por el Centro sin fundamento alguno, sino que muy por el contrario, están posicionados muy conscientemente, para recordar, entre otras cosas, que la mujer no pertenece afuera.

*El nombre ha sido cambiado.

Francis

I looked in the mirror and I looked fine. I was going to meet up with some friends in Plaza Italia and we were going to find a bar to watch the soccer game. We were not going clubbing or anything and it was cold outside. I was wearing a sweater, pants, and very little makeup. I hadn’t showered and my hair was rebelling, but I didn’t care. I looked fine. Normal. Decent. Average. Fine. We were meeting at 7pm. It was 6:50. I put on my jacket, grabbed my things, descended in the elevator, took a deep breath, and stepped out the door into the cold winter air. 

I had ten minutes to get there which meant that if I walked as fast as possible I would still be late which was perfect I didn’t want to be the first one there waiting by myself I usually refuse to walk anywhere without my iPod even though I know that having my headphones in probably makes me even more of a target for getting mugged I still think it is worth it though because I really really really can’t deal with the whistling groups of men or the individual douchers who are walking alone and whisper “ay que linda” in my ear as I pass because they are too embarrassed to do it from afar when they are not with a group of like-minded perverts I figured I wouldn’t have to wait too long for my friends so I didn’t bring my iPod so I basically ran to Plaza Italia not noticing anything or anyone barely even taking into consideration the signs at the crosswalks I hummed obnoxious Pussy Riot songs in my head and pretended to be a swift invisible powerful person until I got to Telepizza and looked around desperately I was hoping that I wasn’t going to be the first person to get there but I was and I panicked and had no idea what to do the soccer game was a big deal so there were drunk excited men running around everywhere yelling and cheering and I felt like I was in their zone leaving my house was a mistake because the public sphere of Plaza Italia is a man’s world whenever there is an important soccer game or any day for that matter I thought about going into the metro station and waiting for the others there because at least I would be inside and anywhere that was inside seemed safer than standing around outside because outside was not where lonely women belong outside is where drunk men belong instead I decided to go buy an empanada at a nearby store since I hadn’t eaten yet and I needed something to occupy my time and calm me down a little I picked out a napolitana empanada and as they were heating it up I went to pay for it at the cashier who was creepy and old and looked at me in a way that was no different than any of the creepy men on the street who I was trying to avoid but at least he was behind glass and I didn’t feel like he could get to me very easily then I grabbed my empanada and headed back outside I looked around again and my friends still had not arrived so I put my back against a building and waited at least with my back to a wall I could see everything that was happening all around me and I felt a little safer but not much because there were about fifty men around me who all took a chance to hold stares and look me up and down as if they were using their glances to tell me “I am a man, I could hurt you” it was coming at me from every direction “IAMAMANIAMAMANIAMAMANIAMAMAN” I felt like I was shrinking I felt like a tiny blond helpless shrinking girl I felt like a child which made the whole thing even creepier because I glared helplessly back at them as though they were pedophiles checking out a child there were a few other girls waiting in the plaza too but they were all doing something to keep themselves busy most of them were on their phones or at least pretending I thought about pretending to be on the phone too but the last thing that I wanted to do was draw even more attention to myself which I would undoubtedly do if the scary men around me heard my accent as if being a tiny blond girl was not telling enough I did not want to make myself seem even more vulnerable to their horny glances I wanted to eat my empanada but one time someone told me that Chileans don’t eat in public and I thought that eating might draw attention to me too I wanted to smoke I have never smoked in my life nor have I wanted to because the elementary school anti-smoking programs had effectively scared me to death but in that moment I wanted to smoke so badly and keep my hands busy I wanted to smoke like a man I wanted to make a cloud of smoke around me so that nobody could see me one time I tried smoking a cigar and I ended up vomiting I wanted to do that I wanted to vomit so that nobody would find me attractive I wanted to vomit a circle around myself I wanted to vomit into their eyes I wanted to hurt every single one of them for scaring me so badly and for making me so anxious I hadn’t done anything the men were not staring at each other they were staring at me they were staring at the few other girls but at least the other girls had something to do I had nothing to do but wait and watch them stare at me all of them looked like they were heading toward me which terrified me because I did not know what they were going to do to me or what they wanted from me they would walk really close keeping their stare they whole time and then say “princesa” or something disgusting before veering so that they did not run into me or the wall we were in public and there were a lot of people around so probably they were not going to actually physically hurt me but they still had to let me know that I was in their domain so they did it through creepy stares and sleazy whispers I wished that I had stayed home I wished that I had a knife I wished that I was a hairy smelly disgusting man so that nobody would ever look at me and objectify me again for being a woman who dares to go outside.

“Francis!” It was Sofia. Finally. I hugged her tightly and held back tears. 

“Maldita gringa puntual!”

Me miré en el espejo y me veía bien. Me iba a juntar con unas amigas en Plaza Italia e íbamos a buscar un bar para ver el partido de fútbol. No íbamos a salir a bailar ni nada, y hacía frío afuera. Estaba usando un polerón, pantalones, y muy poco maquillaje. No me había duchado y me pelo se estaba rebelando, pero no me importaba. Me veía bien. Normal. Decente. Promedio. Bien. Nos íbamos a juntar a las 7pm. Eran las 6:50. Me puse mi chaqueta, agarré mis cosas, bajé por el ascensor, respiré profundamente y salír por la puerta hacia el frío de invierno.

Tenía diez minutos para llegar lo que significaba que aunque caminara lo más rápido posible igual iba a llegar tarde lo cual era perfecto porque no quería ser la primera en llegar y estar ahí esperando sola usualmente me rehuso a caminar a cualquier lugar sin mi iPod aunque se que tener los audífonos puestos me hace un blanco aún más obvio para los asaltantes pero sigo creyendo que vale la pena porque en verdad no puedo lidiar con los grupos de hombres que silban o los pelmazos individuales que van caminando solos y te susurran “ay qué linda” en el oído a medida que paso al lado de ellos porque les da mucha verguenza hacerlo de lejos cuando no están con un grupo de pervertidos de la misma mentalidad pero asumí que no tendría que esperar mucho a mis amigas así que no llevé mi iPod y basicamente corrí hacia Plaza Italia sin darme cuenta de nada y nadie y casi son considerar los semáforos en las esquinas y tarareaba odiosas canciones de Pussy Riot en mi mente y pretendía ser una persona ágil e invisible hasta que llegué a Telepizza y miré a mi alrededor desesperadamente esperando no ser la primera persona en llegar pero lo fui y entré en panico y no tenía idea qué hacer y además el partido de fútbol era un gran evento así que habían hombres emocionados y ebrios corriendo por todos lados gritando y cantando y sentí como si estuviera en su territorio salir de la casa fue un error por la esfera pública de Plaza Italia es un mundo de hombres cada vez que hay un partido de fútbol o mejor dicho siempre pensé en entrar al metro y esperar a las otras ahí porque por lo menos estaría adentro y cualquier lugar que fuera adentro parecía más seguro que estar parada afuera porque afuera no es donde la mujeres solitarias pertenecen es donde pertenecen los hombres ebrios pero preferí ir a comprar una empanada a un local cercano porque no había comido y necesitaba algo para ocupar mi tiempo y calmarme un poco elegí una empanada napolitana y mientras la calentaban fui a pagar a la caja y el cajero era espeluznante y viejo y me miraba en una manera que no se diferenciaba en nada de los otros hombres espeluznantes que estaba en la calle y los cuales quería precisamente evitar pero por lo menos estaba detrás de un vidrio y no parecía que podía alcanzarme tan fácilmente entonces agarré mi empanada y volví a salir y miré a mi alrededor nuevamente pero mis amigas aún no llegaban entonces apoyé mi espalda contra un edificio y esperé al menos con mi espalda en contra de una muralla podía ver todo lo que pasaba a mi alrededor y me sentí un poco más segura pero no tanto porque había como cincuenta hombres rondando y todos aprovechaban de mirarme de arriba hacia abajo como si estuvieran usando sus miradas para decirme “soy un hombre, te podría dañar” y llegaban de todas las direcciones “SOYUNHOMBRESOYUNHOMBRESOYUNHOMBRESOYUNHOMBRE” sentí como si me estuviese encogiendo me sentí como una pequeña rubia que se encongía me sentía como una niña lo cual hacía toda la situación incluso más espeluznante porque los miraba de vuelta como si fueran pedófilos observando a una niña y habían un par de mujeres esperando en la plaza también pero todas estaban haciendo algo para mantenerse ocupadas la mayoría de ellas hablaba por teléfono o por lo menos pretendían hacerlo y pensé hacer lo mismo pero lo último que quería hacer era atraer más atención hacia mi persona cosa que iba a pasar inevitablemente si es que los aterradores hombres que me rodeaban escuchaban mi acento como si ser una pequeña niña rubia no fuese lo suficientemente delatador no quería verme aún más vulnerable frente a sus miradas calientes quería comerme mi empanada pero una vez alguien me dijo que los chilenos no comen en público y pensé que comer podría atraer aún más atención a mi persona quería fumar nunca en mi vida he fumado y tampoco he querido porque las campañas anti-tabacco del colegio me habían asustado efectivamente pero en ese momento lo único que quería era fumar y mantener mis manos ocupadas quería fumar como un hombre quería hacer una nube de humo y rodearme en ella para que nadie me viera una vez traté de fumar un puro y terminé vomitando quería hacer eso ahora quería vomitar para que nadie me encontrara atractiva quería vomitar un círculo a mi alrededor quería vomitar en sus ojos y quería herir a todos y cada uno de ellos por asustarme tanto y por ponerme tan ansiosa no había hecho nada los hombres no se estaban mirando entre ellos me estaban mirando a mí estaban mirando a las otras chicas pero por lo menos las otras chicas tenían algo que hacer yo no tenía nada que hacer más que esperar y mirarlos mientras me miraban y todos parecían caminar hacia mí cosa que me aterraba porque no sabía lo que me iban a hacer o lo que querían de mí caminaban muy cerca mío sin desviar su mirada y después decían “princesa” o algo asqueroso antes de cambiar su dirección para no chocar conmigo o la muralla estábamos en público y había mucha gente alrededor así que probablemente no me iban a agredir físicamente pero aún así tenían que hacerme saber que yo estaba en su territorio así que lo hacían a través de miradas espeluznantes y susurros desagradables deseé haberme quedado en casa deseé que tuviese un cuchillo deseé ser un hediodo, peludo y asqueroso hombre para que nadie me mirara y objetivizara ni una vez más por ser una mujer que se atreve a salir.

“Francis!” era Sofía. Al fin. La abracé firmemente y me aguanté las lágrimas.

“Maldita gringa puntual!”

Francis