I set up my own laptop, turned on a podcast, and got to work with my piping hot cup of chamomile tea. Now, when I had first entered the cafe, I made eye contact with an old lady who was sitting at a table with a pile of papers in front of her. I don't remember smiling in acknowledgement. I just looked straight past at the menu and debated getting a late-night croissant. But, I guess in that fleeting interaction, I had given off the impression that I was extremely approachable, with plenty of free time. Perhaps it was my choice of chamomile tea. People with deadlines don't drink chamomile tea. They drink hard, black coffee.
Not even five minutes had passed when I felt a presence at my side. I slowly look over and sure enough, it's the old lady. She was standing there, one hand on her hip, and a stack of papers in the other. She was looking at me with her eyebrows furrowed, with a "what's taking so long" attitude. Thoroughly confused and a bit worried with what she wanted from me, I took out my earbuds and smiled, "Oh, hello..... can I help you with something?" (terrible move on my part)
"Do you speak English?"
"... Yes...."
"Fluent? Were you born here?"
"Well.. I wasn't born here, but I'm fluent... I think." (maybe if I sound unsure, she'll leave me alone)
"Okay, then you can help me with my paper?"
[This question is interestingly phrased. It's not really asking for assistance in the way that "Can you help me...?" does. It's a way of confirming something that has been promised/is physically possible.
For example: 'You promised me you would clean the bathroom in five minutes? Okay, then you can do it now?' or 'You have two functioning legs? Okay, then you can walk across the room?']
"I can??? Um... What paper?"
(Shoves pile of papers into my lap) "I have to read this story for my class and write 200 words."
[At this point, I started looking around, hoping that the cafe owner would come whisk away the old lady apologetically, "Oh, don't mind my senile mother. She thinks she is still in school. Go back to cramming for your very important midterm." But nope. The cafe owner was too busy peeking over the shoulder of the Starcraft kid, entranced by the action on the screen.]
"... Oh so you want me to help you? I don't think I know this story."
"It's okay. Read it. It's about a man and a poor boy that he abuses .. blah blah blah." (Her English is a bit broken, so I'm having trouble understanding her. I am able to gather that a man is abusive to a boy that is not his son, the boy becomes fed up with the abuse, and the boy kills the man.)
In my head, I was imagining myself handing the papers back to her and saying, "I'm sorry Ma'am. I really have no time for this, because I have a huge test in two days!" In reality, I sighed and tried to skim through the poorly printed 4-page story and then her even-harder-to-read penmanship.
I'm not trying to slyly brag about how nice I am here. Because we all know I'm not very nice. My inability to say no in this situation is the result of my upbringing that has instilled in me an unquestioning submission to my elders, no matter how unreasonable they may be. If grandma wants you to read her papers, you read her papers.
I bet you're thinking, "Awwww... the old lady is just trying to improve her English. Can't you just spare a few minutes and commend her effort to keep her mind sharp as she ages?" Yeah yeah yeah. I tried that. But after repeatedly having ridiculous encounters with COMPLETE strangers, one starts to lose patience.
On a more serious note, I especially struggle with how I should act with individuals who are clearly mentally ill. I've had a man follow me around a bus stop while calling out -- almost rhythmically -- what sounded like "ba-TA-ni." Literally AROUND the bus stop. I didn't want to be the asshole that jumped away from the man who is obviously not well. So I slowly sidled over, inch by inch. I gradually made my way around the entire bench, and the man was still right next to me, "ba-TA-ni." The scariest parts were when he would pause. My quick-to-panic mind starts ringing all the alarms, 'Why did he pause? What does ba-TA-ni MEAN?? WHAT IS HE TRYING TO TELL ME?' Just when you start hoping that he will stop and leave you alone, it starts again, "ba-TA-ni."
And then there was the man (who I thought was just drunk) that began recommending things for me to do in SF. It began with the July 4th fireworks over Pier 39 that I could not miss. But by the time he got to the annual jazz festival, I noticed that he was grabbing at his genitals. Maybe he was just shamelessly readjusting himself, but I was extremely uncomfortable and started scanning the street for people who would serve as witnesses if anything were to happen.
Sorry. That took a dark turn fast, huh.
I'm writing this at midnight after a long, gloomy day.
I bet if I read over this entry another day, I will decide to delete it on account of its being a rambling description of my paranoia.
Also, don't worry.
I am looking into buying pepper spray off of Amazon Prime, and I've begun practicing my RBF.
If you walk by me on the street these days, you probably won't even recognize me cuz I look so damn tough.
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