Thank you, please.

Perhaps my favorite part of Madrid is the public transportation (except for when the workers are on strike, as happened on Thursday). The metro and the buses went everywhere, and you could easily get around without a car. In fact, having a car is actually probably quite inconvenient in a city as large and cramped as Madrid.

But, as with most big city public transit systems, it feels very sterile. You get on, you get off, and you barely acknowledge either the driver or the people sitting/standing next to you. And honestly, that's the polite thing to do. It's a way of maintaining a small amount of personal space in a very densely populated area.

So I was a bit surprised when I arrived in Austin and hopped on the city bus to go to UT. As people got off the bus, they shouted "Thank you!" to the bus driver. It sounded weird. It's the dude's job-why thank him for stopping when that's what s/he's supposed to do?

But the longer I've been in Austin, the more I've come to appreciate this custom. It's so very Midwest-a recognition that a bus driver-even while doing his job- is doing you a favor in stopping to let you off.

And I kind of love that about Austin. I've even started to say "Thank-you" myself. They deserve it.

But it makes me wonder if I'll start saying "Gracias" to all the bus drivers in Madrid when I go back to visit. 

My conscience is a 70 year old Spanish señora

It's been a long time since I've been able to fully recount a dream upon awakening. I normally sleep so soundly that I don't remember anything once I wake up, and I am honestly just fine with that. I like sleeping deeply. I can sleep through loud thunderstorms and noisy roommates and panting doggies and everything. It's awesome!

And yet...last night I had the strangest dream. I can pinpoint why certain people or locations appeared in it because I recently was talking about them or thinking about them or something. BUT I cannot for the life of me figure out why my conscience had to show up as a 70-year-old Spanish señora.

So here's what happened. I dreamt that I was in Madrid. No surprise there. I've been planning on going back and visiting at some point within the next few months, and as the date gets closer, I get more excited.
 
I was hanging out with one of my best friends in Madrid, and we climbed up to the roof of her apartment building and hung out like punks. I felt mischievous, even though we weren't technically doing anything wrong.

And then for some reason, I found myself at a strange Spanish mall, hanging out with two somewhat immature guys that I barely know...one of whom I went to high school with and one of whom I knew in Madrid for a short period of time. I'm not sure why the second appeared in my dream, but the first was there because I'd been talking about high school with my mom and he had come up in the conversation. So that kind of made sense, in dreamworld. But not really.

And then the security guard started chasing us, because high school kid had done something wrong in the past and he recognized him. So HSK suggested to us that it would be ok, all we had to do was keep moving and shake the tail and then just leave the mall. So we took some escalators and doubled back, and I was the first to grow tired of the game and walk back out through the security scanners.

And this little old Spanish dude was guarding the door and I walked through and for some reason, a little old Spanish lady who was also helping at the security checkpoint decided to pull me to the side and pat me down (but it was cool because there wasn't anything to find--although I did discover a flocked velvet tattoo on my foot? Really, dream? Really?)

And then for some reason, I decided that I needed to empty my backpack. Because it was dirty, obvi. And there was a little door close to the security area, and it was unlocked, and there was a little sink, trashcan, and queen-sized bed. So I dumped all the dirt out of the pockets of my backpack (along with some plastic easter eggs?) into the trash can, and washed something(?) down the sink, and then the little old lady spotted me in this room, and I FELT SO GUILTY!!!!

She immediately turned around and yelled, "¡DIEGO! ¡Hay alguien allí en tu piso!"(Because that was the name of the little old security guy, duh.) And she made me go out and explain to Sr. Diego that I was profusely apologetic and I really wasn't sure why I had thought it was ok to enter someone's private room when I would never do such a thing at home and I wasn't sure why I thought it was ok to do so in Spain, and I had to keep interrupting the señora because she really really wanted to tell Sr. Diego that I was a terrible awful no-good horrible person for entering someone else's room and basically, my own dream guilt-tripped me and made me apologize to myself (because this is all a figment of my imagination). And I still felt incredibly guilty and like such a terrible person. And thus, my conscience is a 70-year-old Spanish señora. And she can be a bit of a b***h.

And Sr. Diego was totally fine with it. He saw how sorry I was, and he basically said, "You know, back when Sr. Franco signed that agreement with the Americans, he told us that we might like their money, but that he wasn't so sure we would like que sean maleducados. I like the money, so I'll deal with your rudeness. (OK, so he wasn't totally fine with it, but it's my conscience and I'm used to always beating myself up a bit.)

In other news, a funny picture of Holly dog!