White Girl Can't Dance

After being in Ecuador for two weeks, I found that I should probably do laundry while I still have a steady supply of clean clothes left. In Ecuador (and I found this in Mexico too), the most common way to do laundry, since most people don't have their own washers/dryers, is to drop off your clothes at the “lavandería”, and they do your laundry there. When you drop it off, they let you know what day you can come back and pick up your clothes, and this could range from 1 day to 1 week – hence dropping off my clothes while I still had a healthy supply left.

I went with my host sister to the lavandería to drop off my clothes. I assumed that it would be like Mexico, and all I had to do was give them my clothes, they would weight them, and we'd be good to go. Wrong. I set my bag of clothes on the counter, and the woman says something to me in Spanish (under pressure = incomprehensible language). I stood there like an idiot for a second, then then the woman opens up my bag and starts taking my clothes out one by one. Turns out that we have to count each item (X number of shirts, X number of socks, etc.). I don't know the words for clothes very well, so I was pretty useless and really embarrassed as I stood there and she's touching all of my dirty laundry. Before I go next time, I'm going to learn the words for all of the clothes that I have.

My clothes took 3 days to wash (must be the busy season?), and when I went to pick them up on Saturday morning, it turned into another embarrassing experience. I handed the woman my receipt, and then I paid her. I don't know if I got there in between a shift change or what, because the woman I paid put my money in the cash register, gave me my change, and left. Another woman opened up my bad and counted my clothes to make sure everything was there that I had dropped off, and then I walked out.

I was about halfway home, and all of a sudden, I hear “GRINGITA! GRINGITA!” (if you recall, that means “white girl”). I turned around a little confused, and assumed I left something on the counter. I WISH I left something on the counter. The woman from the lavandería came up to me and said that I hadn't paid. Ummmmm, what? I told her that yes, I did in fact pay, because now I have $1 coins that I didn't have before (note: they don't give you a receipt when you leave). I also explained that the woman in the blue shirt took my money and gave me my change. She said that no, the other woman said I didn't pay either. I don't know what to do, and she must have noticed my face was on FIRE and I was just about in tears because she patted my shoulder, told me not to worry, and walked away. Needless to say, I'm going to find a new lavandería.

Also on Saturday (Sunday family days have quickly turned into Saturday and Sunday family WEEKEND), there was a barbecue. Cousin Jorge was in town from New York. My host family made it sound like he was in town JUST to meet me, so I had no way of making up some excuse to get out of this family gathering. Around 1:00, cousin Jorge came and picked me, Lupe (host mom), and Pamela (host sister) up (we are currently car-less and Lupe doesn't know what to do with herself. Hopefully we'll be getting the new car [I hope it has seat belts in the backseat!!] on Tuesday, but this seems unlikely since we were supposed to get it Wednesday the 20th, and then again on Friday the 22nd) and we made our way to Aunt Cecilia's house (where I caught the fruit fly last Saturday). The food was AMAZING (so amazing that Grandma pulled a plastic bag out of her pocket and put the food she didn't eat into it to save for later. What?), and I was more awake and alert this time, so I actually had an enjoyable time. And now I know who everyone is since I seem to be spending every weekend with them (I wonder what I'll do when I move out of this house?!).

Around 7, to my surprise, I was invited to go to a movie by some cousins. The cousins that invited me are the ones that I spend the most time with, and I really like them. Salim is 28, Cristy is 25, and Samir is 22, so it's nice to spend time with Ecuadorians my own age instead of being the youngest one by 20 years.

There was a group of 8 of us going, including cousin Jorge, my host sister Pamela, my host mom's grandkids (ages 16 and 13), and cousin Carlitos (17). We were going to see Sherlock Holmes (I was hoping it was sub-titled and not dubbed). After going to three different movie theaters, we found that there were no tickets available. I have no idea how they knew this, because most of the time we just drove around in the parking lots and they were like “Shoot, full. Next theater!!”. The group (and by the group I mean everyone except me) was looking into other movies, and saw Paranormal Activity (OH GOD PLEASE NO!) was playing at 9:45. Thank GOD no one wanted to wait that long. Instead, they asked me if I liked bowling. “Yeah! Bowling is fun! But I'm really REALLY bad!” (NO. I hate bowling, and I'm actually the worst bowler on the planet.) Bowling it is. Turns out, I'm not as bad as I thought I was, because I won the game with a score of 107, and beat the second place person by 30 points. Now I look like a huge nerd (shout-out to the Fincutters and my mom who are bowlers – sorry, bowling just isn't my thing) and a liar because I told them I was bad.

After bowling we went to the discoteca aka dance club. GREAT. I was wearing jeans, a pink/green/blue/yellow striped t-shirt, and flats (not that I would have worn heels anyways). In Ecuador, this is NOT a proper going-to-a-dance-club outfit. Cristy was wearing a similar outfit though, so that made me feel better. On the car ride to the discoteca, they were asking me if I could dance. “No. I try, but I can't dance.” (NO. I don't even try because I have zero coordination, so instead of trying to dance and making a fool of myself, I just don't take it seriously and try to be funny. Shout-out to Travis and super-sober fun at Brother's and “blendin'”) Since I had previously told them I was bad at bowling, they said to me “Oh, you're bad at dancing like you're bad at bowling? Hahaha.” My response: No, I'm REALLY bad at dancing. Followed by a nervous laugh. If this conversation would have been in English, I would have said “Seriously. White girl can't dance.”

We arrive at the discoteca and it is PACKED. Now, this can work to my advantage, because when a place is packed, you can't REALLY dance, so I can USUALLY get away with just kind of bouncing up and down, moving my head a bit, you know, just keeping the beat. Not here. Everyone SOMEHOW makes enough space for everyone to do a little salsa dancing-with-the-stars kind of dancing. Salim, bless his soul, tried teaching me salsa, and it ended in convulsive laughter. (During my time here in Ecuador, I've often found myself thanking my mom and dad for my genes. Again – thanks Mom and Dad for being such coordinated people. I really appreciate it.) The songs – all Latina – are really catchy, and Salim kept asking me if I liked the music, and I actually did, but I found myself thinking “Can I request Lady Gaga? Miley Cyrus?”. They DID play Shakira's “She Wolf” (ahhh-ooooooo!), and I got REALLY excited, until it was the Spanish version. I sang along in English.

At one point, the dance floor got REALLY packed, and if I would have been in an English speaking environment, I would have said “The only way to dance is up!” and THROWN my arms up in the air. It's really unfortunate that I don't know how to make comments like this in Spanish, because I ended up keeping my arms at my sides. Around 1:30AM, I found myself hoping that the discoteca closed at 2AM. My feet were tired, I was exhausted and SWEATING, and I HAD to stop trying to move my hips. Thank the Lord it was. Maybe I'll take dancing lessons while I'm here. I mean, I can't go a full year looking like such an idiot.

Until next time,
White girl that can't dance.