SAST#7- Madrid
A fucking really cool albeit useless CV. That’s what I have and that’s what I have accepted. A collection of strange jobs in strange places. Or rather, strange jobs in strange places for a Scottish man. You’d be surprised how undeservedly unique I am when abroad. None of the jobs have paid well. None have had long term prospects. Unless when you say long term prospects you mean, “could you keep doing this job in order to remain in the country?” Because yes, that is the plan.
I think dating is hard in Madrid. I’ve experienced it first hand and have now been told by someone who has been here for years, that yes it is hard. Hard socially in general.
“People have their groups here,” she said.
“Their university group, their work group, extended family group and their school friends. Absolutely no mixing.”
She went on to explain that everyone is busy. This is the symptom I've experienced the most. But, it was the same shit in Glasgow (just maybe not as bad…Madrid people are out constantly). Most people work five days and want to make the most of their two days off by jamming it with activities. An adult aged twenty eight willingly booking their weekends at least three weeks in advance. For me, they are giving themselves a sentence. Not my style. I understand it, but no.
And here lies the problem. So many people are like this. So for me, if I go on a date and it goes well, I most likely have to wait a week and a half until I see them again. And I know what you are thinking, that if it really went well they would be trying to see me sooner. No. Every cunt is busy. Today, I woke up on my one of three days off (fuck you) with the sole plan of acquiring a nose hair clipper. Other than that, Im an open book. Give me an open book who is funny with big tits. I am dateable!
When your days off are precious, you don't want to risk them with strangers or people you don't know well. You stick with comfort. The old friends. The trusted pubs. Nothing new, but sometimes predictability is all we ever want.
Truthfully, I'm not trying that hard to date. Like, I know things I could do but don't do. Normally when I travel I'm chomping at the bit. But not this time. I've gotten older. I don't want to sit and talk about my accent for half an hour. I've taken advantage of just being Scottish enough times. Normally, normalmente, my motivation is cancelled out by a wank. If they seem cool? Fine. Great. But let's fucking meet soon man come on. What is wrong with people? Why is every day of your life planned? Why does that make you happy?
I've not been in a “group” since I was eighteen. Mostly because I am the human embodiment of marmite. That being said, it is quite an arrogant assumption. Most people dont think about me despite my my cool, new and very tight t-shirt.
I swear I dont really like Scotland, but, the moment I leave Still Game, Chewin The Fat etc infiltrate my brain. It was the same in Cambodia, at the start at least. You seek cultural familiarity whilst being inundated with new worlds.
I've seen many people at traffic lights close their eyes as the sun beams down on them. I get it, the sun is bright. But it seems more deliberate…more profound. It lasts longer than an annoyance. They stand in contemplation or rather, they stop in contemplation. When do you stop in Scotland? Scotland is full of haste and the weather is part of it. You're rushing to get inside. That being said, you should see how slowly these cunts walk. I'm all about the slow life but Jesús Christ fucking move right fucking now. The fuck is wrong with you? You never in a hurry? It's a Monday morning! This path is thin! Move you cunt!
I'm starting to think in Spanish sounds. SOUNDS. Not words. I come home from school filled with Spanish expressions that I don't understand. My ex was French and I loved her for many reasons, one was how much she expressed herself. Her feelings existed verbally and physically…instantly. Everyone is like that here. I monitor lunch on a Thursday with primaria (I only teach Esso- Secondary), and I see that the young children already have attitudes. They already are sassy. I love it. The noise, the facial expression and the body. “Por qué??????” Hands, face, mouth.
I seen one girl playing football with the boys and she booted the ball at one of their chests. The wee boy went down screaming and the girl gave a face and body of, “whit? It’s nothing”.
I see little boys walking around with the expression of a fifty year old jakey Glaswegian. What are they talking about? What is the crisis five year olds face at lunch time?
Anyway, that's me. I've thrown my brain at you once again.
Cheers