Ole, ole y ole

I was about to go down the stairs into the tube station when a guy with a big suitcase emerged proffering an scandalous Ole, ole y ole! while directly looking at me.

Maybe it was his first day here in London and he hasn’t found out how many Spaniards are already here, which is rare, since you can already find a handful of Spaniards in the Gatwick Express.

This time I was so distressed that I couldn’t come with anything to tell him, and I usually don’t reply when I am in these situations (it’s kind of funny to see them saying things believing that I don’t understand anything).

But I will never forget the face of one of these cheeky guys in Queensway: I was just coming home when someone kind of stamped an advertisement for a chinese buffet in my face and said in Spanish something along the lines of Fucking pick this ad, I can’t stay here all day long!!.

I stopped and asked him (in spanish) what he was pretending to do and why did he say that, because it was very disgusting. Suddenly his face got into a cycling exhibition of all colours in the red spectrum and began to excuse himself while I began to feel like a teacher or something like that, and I didn’t like that sensation, to be honest. But at least he learnt the lesson: don’t swear at strangers!


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