Mortification

After three months in Chile, I've yet to hit anything resembling a "stride" or "groove". Normal, everyday activities (such as grocery shopping) that formerly gave me no problems at all are now nightmarish tests of how badly I can embarrass myself. It makes the days interesting; I'm never bored for too long.

Chilean grocery stores hum with the kind of nervous energy most people feel in doctor's offices, none more so than the big chains (Lider, Jumbo, Santa Isabel). Being in a WalMartian atmosphere in a foreign country, in a foreign language is an experience unto itself, but much like their North American counterparts, people in these mega-stores charge up and down the aisles full of purpose, often leaving a path of destruction in their wake. Even so, the weekday evening/weekend shopping experience can take hours.

As people in Chile love to eat, so do they love to shop for food in miraculously large quantities. Chileans eat the most bread, ice cream and coca-cola per capita than any other country in Latin America, and Lider reflects this perfectly. There are aisles devoted exclusively not only to these foods, but to mayonnaise, yogurt and powdered juice. The bread section or Panderia, is a personal favorite as I often watch middle-aged housewives scrambling to get the fresh, inexplicably cheap bread by the ton.

While the grocery store (Lider, to be exact) can be a source of amusement for me, I am a constant source of amusement for its staff and patrons. I attract a lot of attention from men, due to my blonde hair, a lot of attention from their wives, because of the attention from the men, and even more attention from the shelf-stockers, who cannot understand why I’d rather pile things on top of me than use a cart. They don’t realize that I have no idea where the carts are, and am too afraid to ask.

Last Wednesday was a very special day for me at Lider. I arrived with a very short, very specific shopping list.

condoms, candles, corona, safety pins

I had exactly an hour to leave my friend's apartment, get to Lider (15 min walk), buy my four items, and return. It was an ambitious mission.

The Lider ambiance is always a bit off, with strange musical choices adding to the lazy urgency of the shopping experience. On this day, I was treated to an instrumental version of "I Just Called to Say I Love You". It struck me because I found it very difficult to recognize without Stevie’s lyric and voice; I kept thinking that it had to be another song. I only had a moment of certainty 10 minutes later, when I was on instrumental version three of "I Just Called to Say I Love You". And counting.

No two Lider’s are the same; they have drastically different floor plans, and carry different items at opposing prices making most people loyal customers to one particular store. I’m not one of those people, and I live for the challenge of finding everything I need. Given the complicated list I was holding, and the time constraints, I had to choose my path carefully. Easy items like beer (also having its own monster-aisle) and candles (which I buy often) were checked off within minutes.
Safety pin is not a word that you learn in college level Spanish; perhaps in Spanish for Seamstresses or something. I called a friend to ask for a translation, but with the shaky cell-phone connection, blaring fake-Stevie Wonder and Chilean catcalls, I forgot it about five seconds later. I searched my vocabulary for some words that I could use to describe safety pin and came up empty until it occurred to me that I might have a safety pin on my person, so I dumped out my giant black backpack (containing: tampons, a small, useless dictionary, Carmex, mascara, rubber gloves, confetti). Happily I did find a safety pin, and marched up to an innocuous-looking woman behind a shampoo display and asked her where I might find more of the little object como se llama.

They don't sell safety pins at Lider.

To buy the condoms, I had to go through check out and wait on line at the farmacia where, of course, only judgmental-looking men work. This was partially due to the fact that like most predominantly Catholic nations, condom use in Chile wasn’t exactly widespread, and is in many ways discouraged. Expecting mothers of any age are highly revered, and even get their own line at check out, making condom purchase something out of the ordinary.

There was no line at the farmacia, for which I was grateful, so I blazed on up to the counter and asked for condoms, which I believed to be the same word in English and Spanish. I vowed to brush up on my vocabulary as judgmental-pharmacist stared blankly at me. I summoned the courage to speak again.

“Condoms, por favor,” I said, two notches above 'audible'. There was now a line forming behind me.

Again I received only a blank stare in return, and I studied the man’s face to be sure that he wasn’t making fun of the obviously frazzled, obnoxiously blonde American girl, who is apparently promiscuous. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, because so often in restaurants or stores, people of different native languages have a harder time communicating than they might in other situations because 1) They are so nervous, that they slur their speech or swallow words 2)They assume from the beginning that they won’t understand what the other person is saying, and never really hear them

This happens to me a lot, but I still felt like there were larger forces at work here and I came to the realization that I might have to ACT OUT what I wanted. With panic rising and the clock ticking, I managed to remember that I do actually know quite a few words in Spanish, and I could surely find something to serve me in the Chilean pharmacy.

Using the words I knew for “safe” and “sex”, I said to the man “Necesito una cosita para sexo seguro.” Seguro turned out to be a poor word choice, as I said something closer to “I need a thing for sure sex.” Had I chosen any other word, or even just said “sexo” I may still be able to frequent that Lider. But I went with seguro, which is really translated more like "sure", so I told the man that I want a thing to have SURE SEX. He smirked at me. I turned red and looked at my watch. He repeated back to me sexo pumping his fist back and forth. I said yes, because I had no choice. He laughed, turned to his left and asked me which kind I'd like.

So I chose from the GIANT display case, which had been right in front of me the whole time.

And then I fled.