Body Language

An important lesson I learned while living with the Spanish girls was that you don't have to speak the same language as someone to show your disdain for them. Nata was really great, but even though I couldn’t understand what Ana was saying, she made it pretty clear that she didn’t think very much of me. I can understand her point of view. Some foreign girl moves into your flat for a month or two, seems to be asleep all the time, and you can't really understand what she says. Conclusion: some weirdo you don't really want to associate with too much in your life. Sad, but understandable.

One particular day, there was someone else coming to check out the room, and she joked with me about how we “should tell them we all go to bed at 9pm” to which I should have replied “and that we never do our dishes either?”, but sadly didn’t. I’m sure she meant well, but about an hour later I was watching a film and she came in the living room with the new guy. She casually opened my last two beers, which she poured for herself and her new friend, then preceded to tell me that the film which she had borrowed from me was really terrible.

It was the end of a long week. I went to my room, got dressed and went for a walk. While I was getting ready she knocked on the door, saying she thought the beers were hers and Nata’s. The damage was done! I was dressed by this point, so I walked to the nearby park which has a great view of the city and a random Egyptian temple. On the way, I bought a big can of beer from a Chinese shop.

I have rarley felt more alone than I did on that Thursday night, outside the Templo De Debod in the park near my house, quietly crying into my supersized can of Mahou.

I watched various people on their tours of the park, feeling entirely miserable, and then I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A man who had been running in the park was now lying on the bench adjacent to mine, vigorously waving his legs in an amusing fashion. I burst out laughing, and he came and sat next to me. (I later found out from a friend that it is virtually impossible for a woman to sit in a park on her own in Madrid no matter how intently she is reading; a man will always come and harass her). The man was fairly amusing, and gave me his details to go for “tea” with him, but even in the twilight I could tell he was at least 35, and moreover, no self respecting Spanish person pretends to prefer tea to coffee. I was reticent about contacting him, and then I lost his phone number when I moved house (which was probably for the best for all concerned).

Living with the Spanish girls for a month was really cool in some ways. I can now add "You're really skinny for a British person" to my top 10 favourite complements. However, when you are a “temp” in a job, some people don’t bother to talk to you. Imagine living in that kind of environment.