Ethnic Stereotype

Walking down a crowded hallway I sense an awkward presence from the penetrating glares passed back and forth between peers. Thinking to myself who of these people actually fit a stereotype, it's an odd moment for me. I’m usually interested in my next move, where I’m going to go after I’m out of class, how good the waves will be over the following days, which girl I could call to go out to lunch. When I catch myself, wondering how could we be fit into specific stereotypes, is it what we do as a group of people who share a general action in certain situations?

A girl is slowing her stride as she enters my peripherals, I wasn’t sure what she was thinking. But anyway all I could call to attention about her were her legs, one stretching out slightly less perfect the other after each stride connecting as a musical raps flow. As I glazed upon the rest of her body I was struck by this gorgeous freshman. It was easy to tell: uncertainty flooded every feature; her eyes didn’t focus on anything, just searching. I figured out her gate was a product of uncertainty not long after.

Because girls were on my mind at the time, I stepped up to her to see if she needed help. She looked approachable, no heavy ethnic barriers, no pretentious attitude just confusion which I knew had to be fought through, and by the time she was across from me my instincts took over.

“Excuse me,” I cautiously interjected.

She turned looking a little more flustered, probably she probably wasn’t used to unsuspecting strangers approaching her, I thought.

“Pardon?”

I was confused, was this light skinned angel Hispanic, Puerto Rican, Brazilian? Anyway I was searching for a response, looking for some type of international sign for camaraderie, when I slipped, asking her out to lunch in my sharpest Spanglish.

She laughed, by now I had gotten embarrassed, doing my best to hide my miserable attempt to have lunch with her. I was comforted after she put her hand on my shoulder, I guess she sensed my uneasiness.

“I’m sorry senor, dinner won’t be for another seven hours.” She replied.

Obviously I had immediately been reminded that I had asked her to go out for dinner, instead.

She politely remarked that if I was able to guess her ethnicity she’d consider eating lunch with me.

I smiled, I knew from my experience with international Brazilian super models glued to the inside of surfing magazines, that she was none other then a Brazilian superstar. As far I was concerned.

I had landed, my many encounters with these advertisements confirmed my stereotypical response.

After she confirmed my guess, she asked me how I was able to tell. I told her about the magazines, then we had lunch.

I guess I didn't realize at first, nor put together the fact that she had said senor when Brazilians speak Portuguese. It was our first and last time seeing each other to date, as far as I know she is from Brazil until the day I die.