Last night, I went to watch the second weirdest film I've seen at the Hammer Museum. However, it was proceeded by the weirdest assault I've had in a while. Now, I get sexually assaulted more than the average girl.
And no, it's not because I'm super pretty or super slutty. In fact, I'm neither. I simply have an aura that attracts crazy people. And it's fine. I've learned to deal with it. I'm making up for something terrible I did in a past life. It's cool.
However, last night's assault was not the typical tame, yet minor inconvenience that I typically experience. It was terrifying.
Standing at the corner of Wilshire and Westwood, patiently waiting to cross the street, I was greeted by a Mexican man that suspiciously resembled a Home Depot worker. He was wearing a cap and got up from the ledge he was sitting on in order to ask me "Como Estas?"
Lucky for him, that is about 50% of what I recall from Mr. Harris's spanish class in 7th grade, and I gingerly replied, "Bien Gracias. Y Tu?" Truth is, I wasn't all that "Bien," but that was the only way I had been taught to answer the question. Little did I realize that "Bien Gracias" would be the advent of my downfall.
He seemed impressed with my bilingual skills, and whispered "Bien" right before he grabbed my hand and kissed it. Normally, this would have all been fine and dandy, (maybe even a bit flattering), but he didn't let go of my hand. That was the problem. He held it for a good 30 seconds, before I had to pull it away from him, and even then, he tried to hold on.
I moved 3 feet back, and prayed that more people would show up at this sidewalk. A nuclear bomb being dropped on me-- that would have been preferable.
He continued to stare at me, and I looked at him nervously. He smiled and misunderstood my complete terror and repulsion for flirting, by signaling that he wants to kiss me on the lips. As if, it's traditional rapist custom to make these inappropriate advances. I quickly shook my head NO, and gave him my terrified glare.
Again, miscommunication, because he took this to mean more flirting. He asked me, "Comma te llama?" And because that was the other 50% of Harris's teachings, I was too excited to realize that I was once again trapped in the Mexican fly paper.
I replied, "Jen", for once, thankful that I had the 8th most common name in the country. He replied, "My name is Ricardo." I took a visual snapshot, in case I'd have to remember him for a lineup one day.
He crossed the 3 foot gap between us, and proceeded to grab my hand again. He kissed it again. I quickly let go, as he began to gargle and spit out weird sexual noises. Yes, it was really creepy. Like it felt like he was eating or dying or being born. Maybe it was a combination of the three, but Lord knows, that I stopped looking.
By this time, a bicyclist and two other pedestrians were standing by me. They all looked a bit mental themselves, so I realized that I was all alone. The damn light! It had been 10 minutes, it seemed, but the red hand flashed persistently in my direction.
"Jenny, you need to pay for your sins," it seemed to be taunting me. But, I do not tolerate abuse. No more. I made a vow never to be one of those submissive Asian ladies that eat up psychological, racial, and sexual abuse for breakfast. I do not tolerate any of this bullshit, especially from an illegal immigrant day laborer.
So, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and started running-- running toward whatever direction the wind guided me. Straight. Yes. I was crossing the street, and miraculously, there were no cars. I felt the chilly air on my shoulders, and the fading out of Ricardo's birthing/sex noises. I was free-- free from---
My hip gave out, and suddenly I was flying. I saw Ricardo's eyes bulge in morbid delight as I was somersaulting through the air. Hit by a car. A panicked Mexican driver quickly ran out of the drivers side, to see if I was okay. I was not.
Nameless Mexican asked me, "Como Estas?"
But what else could I say, but the only answer that I had been trained with, "Bien Gracias, y tu?"