I have red hair, blue eyes, pale skin and freckles. I also speak fluent Spanish.
I once had a professor come into my International Relations class to describe a trip. I asked the price, in Spanish. He told me the price and said, “But you have to be able to speak Spanish. Do you speak Spanish?” Claro que si, boludo de mierda.
I once called a safe taxi only to have him drive around in circles until the price had doubled, and drop me off a block away from my not-so-safe destination and insist he didn’t have change for a 50-peso bill. Yo tampoco pelotudo. I sat there for five minutes. Suddenly, he had change.
I once lived in a house where the man couldn’t get his own beer, where I was laughed at for saying I was a feminist, where it was okay for them to generalize the world, but it wasn’t okay to suggest that Buenos Aires was anything less than perfect. Machistas.
I once punched an Argentine guy for saying: “Blow me.”
Some people here like to speak English to practice. No hard feelings; I respond in Spanish, though.
Some people here like to get annoyed and try to use smaller words in Spanish. I still respond in Spanish.
Some people here think all Americans are rich capitalist pigs, when the truth is we’re mostly middle-class and actually help the poor with our social programs and decent public schools.
Some people here have this redhead fantasy and think I came here to fulfill it.
Some people here are racist, sexist and disingenous.
Some people here are fantasitc.