The other night there was a big Fútbol game and the whole world had gone to hell. It was late, the apes had taken over the streets, and I had to find me a taxi and get the fuck out of dodge. As you can see, I’m a huge Fútbol fan. Call me crazy, but I don’t like sharing the streets with gangs of hooting, hollering, hormone-pumped drunken men draped in banners.
But it was as if the taxi drivers knew in advance that the city would approach Armageddon-like status and had decided to take the night off. On a street normally full of taxis, it was an absolute desert for an eternal ten minutes.
As the gorrilla howls got louder and closer, a green-lit taxi miraculously appeared and I gratefully jumped in. This is the conversation that followed. [Italicized text is internal conversation to myself; ****** represents long, leaden silence.]
ME: Good evening. Take me to ### , please.
PAKISTANI TRAVIS BICKLE: [Turning around in his seat, smiling with an unnerving familiarity, and fixing me with a penetrating stare] Sure.
[The driver turns back to face the wheel. 15 uncomfortable seconds pass]
Are you a natural blonde?
ME: ?¿?¿
Holy shit, did I hear that correctly? Did he just fucking ask me if I’m a “natural blonde”?
************
Are you a “natural” sexually harassing creep? A “natural” sociopathic, borderline-rapist asshole?
Stop the taxi. I’m outta here, Motherfucker.
But if I get out, I’ll be stuck on the streets with packs of wild soccer barbarians! And who knows what’ll happen then?! FUCK!
******
ME: No, I’m not a natural blonde. In fact, my hair is entirely gray [I really stressed the word gray].
Hopefully that’ll be enough of a boner-shrinker of an answer that I’ll have a chance of getting home relatively unraped.
P.T.B.: Oh. I thought you were a natural blonde.
ME: You know what? Fuck this guy. I’ll try to enjoy this. What about you? Are you a “natural blond”?
P.T.B.: No, I’m not. “Negro.” My hair is black.
ME: Mm hmm.
P.T.B.: But [touching the back of his head] I’ve lost most of it already. It’s fallen out from all the hot water in this country.
ME: Hot water?
P.T.B.: Yes, the hot water.
ME: You’re saying that hot water causes hair loss?
P.T.B.: Yes. In my country, I always washed my hair with cold water. But here, the water is too hot, and it makes the hair fall out.
ME: Nobody ever informed this guy that in this country there are pretty simple manual controls to regulate water temperature? Nah, better not bring it up. You don’t want to open that door to conversation about personal showering experiences.
Interesting. I did not know that.
P.T.B.: Where are you from?
ME: Canada. [That's my standard, trouble-avoiding answer.] Where are you from?
P.T.B.: Pakistan.
ME: Mm hmm. [That was the only response I could come up with. What else could I say? "Hey, that's some awesome attempted car bombing your countryman pulled in Times Square!" Or "How far you've come from your little hometown in Pakistan, to being sexually inappropriate to women trapped in the back of your cab on another continent. Your folks back home must be so proud!"]
[Thankfully long silence, during which I see that the streets have calmed down.]
ME: You know what? You can just let me off here.
P.T.B.: You sure?
ME: Oh, yes thank you. Like hell I’m gonna let you see where I live, Motherfucker.
———————
I know: it’s a little unfair to call this guy the “Pakistani Travis Bickle”, because Travis Bickle actually risked his life to restore a little girl’s honor that had been taken from her by sexual predators.
Really, the only thing they had in common is that they both drove a taxi.
And, of course, they both lost their hair.
Maybe the taxi had a mini camera and your appearance will come this weekend in a indian documentary. the gloval teley
Your history is funny. I understand completely your experience on Football, when i lived in Madrid, had plenty of these experiences; going for a walk at night with soundgarden or Ministry on my headphones and people asking me how was the match going (no, i´m not listening to it, sorry -stares at me like i was an alien freak-), feeling unconfortable with all the goddam city enjoying something i can’t share, not being able to find a bar for a beer wich is not invaded by football screamers…that thing it’s even harder in Madrid than in Barcelona. But, with the pakistani Travis Bickle, i’m gonna be some kind of “abogado del diablo” (devil’s advocate, i think you would say); reading it i thought maybe you are too hard on the man. He just asked a inoccent -maybe stupid- question. (I find the most surrealist conversations are always with taxi drivers and hair-dressers) You gonna hate me for that, but in some way i felt identified with the taxi driver, made me think maybe women did thought of me as a kind of Psychopat Travis Bickle when i started small talk with them (and maybe sometimes stupid talk -you don´t pick on Sartre or Nietsche when you start a conversation with a stranger, you say first thought that comes to your head-), and did it just because i found them atractive and wanted to say something, whatever it would be. Now i wonder how many women looked at me like a Travis Bickle taxi driver XDDDDDD. But hey, i wonder that’s what makes the world go round.
And by the way i discovered why i’m losing my hair!. So it what’s that, i’m gonna get right now a hand control for cold water on my shower!. XDDDD
Sorry for you suffering in the middle of the streets that night but guess you’ve been living in Barcelona enough to know how people react with anything involving Barça team. I hate culés, and futbol fanatism is worth studying. Whenever I hear crap like Iniestazo, I feel sick.
On the other hand, regarding your Paki friend, again, this is nothing new for me. I used to live in a Pakistan neighborhood in London and sexual comments or attitutes were like their daily routine. A friend of mine was touched twice in just two nights, I got a sort of scary experience with another one and you had to be veeery careful when one seemed friendly. They are culturally opposite to us and see in a woman just a possession or a sexual toy, and I’m not stating this conclusion, female Pakistan are the ones who despise guys there, they don’t respect women. I might sound racist or whatever, not only I’ve lived in their environment but also worked with them…definitely not my cup of tea.
Thank you for your comment. I really didn’t wish to stir up any anti-Pakistani sentiment. This particular driver was one bad apple, and the first Pakistani taxi driver that’s ever acted inappropriately with me — and that’s including the four years I lived in New York, where many Pakistanis work as drivers. I’ve actually had more icky incidents with Spanish drivers.
Just wanted to make that clear.
I think most cultures in the world are misogynistic, and the democratic, occidental world we live in is an exception.
One thing is sure: I’m damn glad I don’t live in Pakistan… or somewhere else. Even the U.S. was too misogynistic for me! Barcelona was a breath of fresh air for me. Maybe for that reason, when men are pigs here, they stick out like a sore thumb… because I find the men here to be much more elegant and sane than anywhere else I’ve lived.
Taxi drivers could be so creepy in BCN at night, me and my friends have some “funny” stories to tell, and we’re all men.
I know as i am a man i’m not used to sexual predators, and I understand the fear that could cause that question (reading it, next line that comes to my mind is Show me!, pretty disgusting) but i also think he didn’t really know waht was really asking (i mean, he probably didn’t realize he sounded like a rapist), but i also understand Rachel, who didn’t know what to think probably.
And why all this football-fans hate? I don’t think i have to be studied in any manner or more than, for example, an Springsteen fan. I feel things about a football match, like someone who watches a movie, or hears a song so i don’t know why i should be treated like a mentally ill person.
Sorry for the ProFootball rant, Rachel.
I don’t like fútbol at all, but I don’t hate fútbol fans. I just dislike herds of people, and when they come out onto the street, i prefer not to be there.
As for the taxista: you had to be there. I think he knew what he was saying. The words as I wrote them don’t adequately convey his tone or body language. Come on: men KNOW what they’re doing. That naïve “I’m from another country” routine will only take you so far.
Then if the tone made you think that, then you’ll probably right. Tone and body langauge never lie.