[I am just now getting back into the swing of life, so it’s time to blog again.
My latest Euro trip was 9 days long and I know that recapping it all would be a marathon that even my closest friends would not stick around to read, so I have decided to make it more palatable by recapping it one day at a time.]
Yes, I went to Madrid and Ibiza.
Take your jealousy…and double it.
I flew to Spain by myself, but met up with my travel partner (who was coming from South Africa) at the Madrid airport. From there, we jumped right into it.
The first evening, we walked around the area immediately surrounding our hotel, familiarizing ourselves with our local shopping, dining and drinking spots. After our initial trip around town, we headed back to the hotel around 7:00 PM to sneak in a nap before heading out for dinner. Five hours later, it was 1:00 AM and we slept through any chance of going out to dinner. Starved, I pleaded with my semi-comatose friend to venture out with me to find some rations. She declined my invitation. Thus, I was on my own.
As I set out on foot across the Madrid night, I couldn’t help but notice how the neighborhood was still very much alive at 1:15 AM. Scooters, pedestrians, taxis, bars, restaurants-it was like a hazy New York City. Normally, I have an uncanny sense of direction, but the section of Madrid where we were staying was a nonsensical grid of streets and alleys-and I kept my trusty iPhone turned off-so I decided to focus my search for food in the area where we snacked earlier in the day. I seemed to remember a pizza spot across the alley from the café where we had eaten lunch, and I figured-being a pizza spot-that it was probably open late, so I headed that way.
As I was nearing the pizza shop, I passed a police station. Always aware of my surroundings (and always untrusting of others), it made me feel comfortable to know I had the Policia nearby. Feeling relaxed, I had a little swag in my step as I strolled through the warm Madrid night like I was the lovechild of Shaft and Jay-Z’s mom. I was about 12 feet from the front door of the pizza shop when a strange woman grabbed my right arm. The conversation that ensued changed my life.
Here it is in its entirety (not safe for children under 86):
Strange blonde woman: “(Spanish ramblings I, even with three years of high school Spanish, am unable to translate).”
WordByTodd: “I’m sorry. No hablo Espanol.”
Strange blonde woman: (grabs my left forearm with her right hand) “I speak English. Come on, let’s go fuck.”
WordByTodd: “Wow. No thank you. Wow.”
Strange blonde woman: (still holding onto my left forearm) “Come on. 25 euros. Let’s go.”
WordByTodd: “Uhhh, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Strange blonde woman: (still holding onto my left forearm) “Why?”
WordByTodd: “I have a girlfriend.”
Strange blonde woman: (still holding onto my left forearm) “Where is she?”
WordByTodd: “She’s asleep. Damn her to hell for not coming with me. She is asleep.”
Strange blonde woman: (still holding onto my left forearm) “Come on. My room is right up there (pointing just across the alley).”
WordByTodd: “Seriously no. I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Strange blonde woman: (still holding onto my left forearm) “25 euros is too much? Is it too much? 25 euros I do _ _ _ _job and I do an _ _.”
WordByTodd: “Oh…my…shit. Ma’am, I am not interested. Thank you.”
Strange blonde bitch: (still holding onto my left forearm) “I want you to fuck me.”
WordByTodd: “I don’t mean to disrespect you, but there is just no way that that is going to happen.”
[At this point, she has dragged me out about 30 feet from the front of the store and into the middle of the square.]
Strange blonde bitch: (still holding onto my left forearm) “Come on. Let’s go.”
WordByTodd: “I’m not going. I’m sorry.”
[Whilst holding onto my left forearm with her right hand during the entire conversation, the discussion gets even more heated as she uses her left hand to TAKE MY EYEGLASSES OFF OF MY FACE AND COMMENCE BENDING THEM IN A FASHION WHERE SHE IS OBVIOUSLY THREATENING TO CRUSH THEM IF I DO NOT PAY HER 25 EUROS FOR MOUTH AND BUTT SEX.]
Dirty blonde whore: (still holding onto my left forearm) “Come on. Let’s go fuck.”
WordByTodd: “I’m not going; and now I’m angry.”
[After voicing my distaste for the entire exchange, I attempt to retrieve my spectacles by reversing my grip on her right hand with my left arm that she has been holding and trying to steady her so I can reach at my glasses. As soon as I make my move, she starts screaming like I am trying to rape her and everyone in the square stops to stare. It’s obvious she has done this dance many times. I let go and stop to assess. Immediately, I think to myself how different her and my lines of work must be. I begin to wonder, since she seems so well-rehearsed in her sales pitch, how many times threatening someone’s personal property has ended up benefitting her.]
WordByTodd: “Look, you are either going to break my glasses or you’re not. I’m not going to pay you 25 euros to do it. I cannot imagine a scenario where threatening to smash someone’s personal property has put them in a mood for this type of thing.”
[It appears the dirty whore was so mesmerized by my words of wisdom that she made the mistake of letting her guard down. When I saw this, I struck-like an orange-skinned girl from New Jersey hungry for blood and hair extensions. I held the bitch in place with one arm and grabbed my glasses with the other. I decided that she could scream if she wanted, and I might be going to jail for either solicitation or assault, but I wasn’t going to be the tourist that gets taken advantage of by a prostitute after being in town only 6 hours. Rather, I decided to distract her with my wit and impose my will while she was paralyzed by my intellect and business savvy.]
WordByTodd: (I begin to reposition my glasses atop my nose) “Please be on your way.”
Diseased Whore: (whilst I am fiddling with my glasses, the bitch turns her hand backwards and gives me a palm-in slap to the scrotum and says…) “Pussy.”
WordByTodd: “(coughing…)”
--
Shaken, I limp into the store to buy some pizza…and they’re out (f-ck me!). I settle on a sleeve of crackers, an apple and a bottle of water (well worth a trip out to be assaulted by a prostitute).
As I get back to the hotel, I realize I have just had the worst experience of my life and would have been better served to lie hungry in bed all night and wait for the safety of morning. I am also wondering if I should tell my friend what happened. Would she even believe it? I mean, this sounds like one of those stories I sometimes make up to entertain people.
As I settle in to bed visibly shaken and licking my emotional wounds, she wakes up. She asks if I am ok and-against my better judgment-I jump right into it. Obviously, she is in disbelief.
The good news? The phrase “25 euros” becomes the first catch-phrase of the trip.
This was day one.
You’re welcome,
