On Being a Freak Magnet
A friend of mine voiced concern about a couple recent incidents I've had on Buenos Aires streets. Like when that guy trailed after me like a puppy for eight blocks, trying to get me to go to a movie with him. Or like a few days ago, when a guy in a Renault drove alongside me really slowly, trying to talk to me.
For the record, none of this is new. You've read the stories. I'm what is called a freak magnet.
I looked up the definition, for those of you unfamiliar with the term. Quoted from an article on MSNBC...
"A freak magnet is basically someone who attracts bizarre, unwanted attention... You're minding your own business and then you suddenly have some encounter that you didn't invite in any way."
That's me.
Incidents seem to occur in a waxing-waning fashion. When it rains, it pours, but I can go for weeks without anything strange happening.
Warning: please note that you, too, could be affected by bizarreness if you hang out with me. And two freak magnets together throws off the earth's polarity (as seen whenever my friend Katie and I hang out together).
In the scheme of things, the recent events were pretty boring compared to times in the past. Like a couple years ago when I was walking in the park and that guy wanted to give me a foot massage. Maybe they seem different or bigger because now they're happening in a foreign language. That's my theory, anyway.
But, in case you're worried, my housemates have taught me a few choice phrases in Spanish to keep the deranged at bay. Like: stop—right now. And: don't follow me. And, my favorite: if you don't leave, I will feed your balls to that dog. Though that one only works well if there's a canine on hand.