So I got into a fight today...
As the title reads, I got into a fight today...
First of all I'd like to say I'm not exactly proud of how things happened. I don't regret it either, but it doesn't make me proud. Here's how it went...
Exams will soon be over and I had just finished studying at the school library, where I met a friend whom I'll call Martin. We chatted for a while and then decided to take a walk down Copilco, a close avenue - the campus is enormous, so we took a bus and soon were there.
After walking for a while, we stopped at a small, family-run drugstore, to buy some water. These stores, by the way, usually carry all kinds of things, from medicines to ham and yogurt, and are meant for local consumers. Specially in the morning, they don't carry a lot of money in case there's some burglary or an incident of the kind, so it's considered good manners (and common sense) to use small bills when paying.
It was perhaps around eleven o'clock, we were just joking around, deciding what to get, when from behind us we hear someone yelling - in English.
"Fuck!!" exclaimed what was obviously a tourist, slamming down a bottled Coke and a $500 pesos bill. "I - want - this. Here - is - the - money."
"These people are so slow," said his girlfriend, a skinny blonde with cheap sunglasses. Yes, she was a walking cliché.
Seemingly, he wanted to pay for a sixteen pesos coke with a five hundred. Ah he seemed to think that, if he spoke loudly and slow, the woman at the counter would suddenly understand English.
Well, she didn't, but she did get what was going on.
"No tengo cambio," she answered; 'I've got not change.' She waved her hands in front of her, "No."
"Why not??" the man exclaimed and dangled the bill in front of the woman's face. "Here's money. You want money? Give me the Coke."
The woman tried again, taking English out of some movie or TV show, perhaps. "No moonee."
"What? Speak correctly, damn it!"
At this point, Martin sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Hey, pal," he said to the tourist, "She's got no change. Try to pay with a smaller bill, like a twenty or a fifty."
Now, if it was me, I would've been glad for the help. But this guy, he turned, and glared at us.
"Why the fuck should I? This is what I want to pay with, this is what I pay with," all the while danglng the bill in front of us.
"Well, she's got no change, so take it easy, try another store," Martin replied.
"Yeah right. I'm tired of your fucking country, fucking sticks. There's nothing to do, and the people are stupid, like this broad. Ya hear me, broad??"
Needless to say, the woman at the counter didn't know what the hell was going on, but she looked rather scared.
"Damn beaners," the guy added.
Which was enough for me. "You tired of our country? Then you get the fuck out of it! Damn gringos, you think we want you here? Do you? The whole fucking world hates you, and we more than anyone else. Get the fuck out of here, gringo de mierda!"
"Get out," added Martin. And you could see he meant business.
Martin is a tall guy, broze skin,of broad back and rather filled. When he gets angry, he looks just like the kind of man you wouldn't want to encounter in a dark alley.
"Get the fuck out of here. Now."
The girlfriend seemed to realize that they had seemingly crossed a line. "Hey, lets go babe. Try another store."
The guy looked at Martin, scowled and left the coke. "Yeah, whatever."
Then, he took the Coke again and made a run for it.
Bad idea. The woman yelled, I yelled, and Martin grabbed his arm and hit him in the face. The douche fell to the floor and started screaming.
"Police!! Police!!"
Martin took the Coke from his hand, and I stood on top of him. "Sure thing police. Sure thing. You tried to steal."
"Get off me, bitch!! Get off me!!"
"And you know what they say about police in Mexico. And here's a surprise - they like Mexicans way better than gringos."
"Hey, get off him!!" the girlfriend seemed to be getting hysteric. "Son of a bitch! Get off him!"
I said, "No."
She bitch-slapped me.
Which is a bad idea too, 'cause I don't bitch-slap, I back-hand, and I happened to be wearing rings.
Martin grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the store. There was too much commotion by then.
"¡Digales que eramos del interior!" he yelled at the woman, in case she was ever asked, he said. (Tell them we're from out of the city!)
We left and ran a good while. Almost back to the school, in fact, not because of fear but because of all the anger inside - running seemed like the best option. We ran and ran, and rested and ran (we ain't athletes!), and two or three ours later we went back to check on the woman.
The two tourists had left soon after us. They were pretty afraid of the rest of the people at the store, it seemed - they hadn't realized that there are plenty of Mexicans able to speak English, and specially so around the University.
The woman was fine and so was the store. We apologized for the commotion, but she seemed to understand well enough - in fact, even without speaking English, she could guess that it had been something racial.
And she was happy to announce me that I had managed to make a nasty gash on the bitch's cheek.
I somehow feel that I stooped down to the idiot tourist level - he called us "beaners," I called them "gringos," it's just no good. I felt racist afterwards, but at the time, it was just so maddening....!
At any rate, I thought this would make a good story to post.
