there are some full-time creepers on this island.
and when i say full-time, i mean it. creeping seems to be their day job. now, they may be moonlighting as, say, a cab driver, street vendor, or parking attendant to pay the bills. but do not be fooled. their career is creeping.
first let me discuss the starring. i have heard that this is common in most latin american cultures, and is somehow genetic and/or socially acceptable. however, in an attempt not to further generalize a topic that is going to be grossly overgeneralized, i’ll limit my opinion to puerto rican men. they stare. and not the flattering ‘oh, i must be looking damn good today’ bashful sort of starring. i’m talking full on, dramatically-perverted-new york city-construction-worker-recently-released-from-prison, i-wish-i-were-wearing-something-amish type of starring. this is not in my head and certainly not a reflection of my personal narcissism because it happens to everyone. and i do mean everyone. last week i saw a women in her 70’s get whistled at. it did not appear to be a joke. this is just to give you an idea of what goes on here.
because a certain degree of creepyness (re:starring) is common, it is sometimes difficult to differentiate a harmless beach goer from the real deal. i will share a few encounters so perhaps you can learn from my experiences and better distinguish a safe starer from a potentially dangerous, however later good for humorous anecdotes, full-timer.
the first is more gross and scarring than funny, but without this incident my attitude may have remained naive and the occurrences that followed may not have happened in the same way.
i was laying on the beach reading ‘the hunger games,’ having an innocent day hanging in district 12 and catching some ryes. all of a sudden, something pulls my attention from panem and i feel like i’m being watched (not so uncommon. in puerto rico and in the novel). but when i look up, i see a man i had barely noticed and previously written off as normal-looking glaring at me with a strange look on his face. at second glance i realize he is completely exposed and touching himself. he was not giving himself a foot massage, i’ll tell you that. GROSS. i reached for my bow and arrow, quickly remembered i’m not actually katniss everdeen, screamed, scooped up my beach things, and got the hell out of there! i moved about 50 feet directly right and plopped myself down in the middle of the beach at the ritz carton. i’m no fool, 5 star hotels don’t stand for shit like that.
in retrospect i should have called the police or hotel security because that. is. not. ok. but to tell you the truth, if i could do it again, i would have pepper sprayed the freak.
honestly, that kept me off the beach for about a week. i just didn’t want to go alone after that. but, as they say, time heals all wounds and eventually i returned to my shady spot under the palm trees. i had a number of successfully peaceful afternoons alone with my kindle and was able to begin to relax.
about 2 weeks later i encountered another, not quite as perverse, creepy guy. but this time i was alert and prepared. also - this guy was from the 80’s. not totally relevant, but entertaining none-the-less. he was wearing tight, multi-colored, florescent shorts complete with matching florescent tennis shoes. and - wait for it - he had a mullet. a real business-in-the-front, party-in-the-back, curly mullet. obviously his appearance caught my attention. (also, i was interested in possibly using his time machine.) as i read, i kept an eye on him. i was wearing my big, audrey hepburn sunglasses, so i was able to be super stealth. i certainly wasn’t going to get caught by surprised again. he paced up and down the beach in my general vicinity, sitting occasionally on the sand to sun bathe. this went on for a while. pace, sit, pace, sit, pace, sit. until finally, he sat on a rock about 10 feet from my shady oasis. where he promptly began to stare directly at me. he was way too close to think i couldn’t see him or wasn’t paying attention, and yet he stared on. i continued trying to read my book, constantly glancing up to check on the status of this full-time creepy guy. honestly, i don’t think he blinked his eyes once in the 10 minutes it took me to get fed up with him. finally, i stood up, took one step toward him and said, ‘is there something i can help you with, SIR?!’ his gaze suddenly turned innocent and questioning, as if saying ‘....what’s you’re problem? i was just looking....’ and he slowly shook his head ‘no.’ i then told him that he’d better ‘move the fuck on.’ and don’t worry. he totally did. you can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl.
the very next day i saw a, clearly, homeless man wandering on the beach. this normally wouldn’t bother me, but i was on guard because of my previous experiences. so i obviously went straight for my pepper spray and put it directly in my pocket. you know, just in case. he walked around for awhile, talking to some of the local vendors he seemed to know, and occasionally to himself. eventually he left the beach. by the time i packed up my beach things and began to head home, i had completely forgotten about him. i turned the corner that leads to our street and just as i was passing a dumpster, i heard a rustling coming from inside. as there are stray gatos y perros all over the island, i assumed it was one of our neighborhood ‘pets.’ turns out, it was our neighborhood homeless guy who was passing the afternoon hanging out in the dumpster. not digging through it, standing in it. now this is a fairly large dumpster. and it has, what appears to be, a window. so there he was, hands gripping the bottom of the ‘window frame,’ smiling a toothless grin and pushing back dirty, seemingly unintentional dreadlocks. as i walked by my new neighbor, the following conversation took place.
homeless guy: ‘hiiiiiiiiii’
me: (withering scowl that should have implied, ‘don’t mess with me, buddy.’)
i began to walk a little quicker.
homeless guy: ‘excuse me, miss. do you, please, have the time?’
me: ‘ummm, i think it’s about 12’
homeless guy: (leaning further out of his dumpster paradise) ‘i’m sorry, what?’
me: (a bit louder) ‘about 12 or 12:30’
homeless guy: ‘oh, thank you. thank you very much.’
as i walked away, slightly puzzled by his politeness, i realized something that really disturbed me. this guy has about 3 teeth, carries his belongings on his back, and hangs out in a dumpster. but, he can speak english! this guy is bi-lingual and i, a college graduate, am not.
so, maybe i shouldn’t judge the creepers of this island too harshly.
except for someone who whips it out on the beach. next time that happens, it’s on bitch.
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