As any expat who has lived in Spain longer than a few months will tell you, there are just some things about this beautiful country that just won't make sense no matter how you slice it. If you have been out of the European game for a while like me, your foreign eyes will be much more astute to these oddities being fresh on the scene than for someone who has been here a considerable amount of time. You will notice these bizarre happenings everywhere and every day: The way my yesterday morning bus' rear-view mirror was being held up by Dixie cups and packaging tape was a prime example-- I apologize in advance for not taking a picture. Another thing I will never understand is the way that the Spanish find it completely abhorrent to walk around one's own apartment barefoot, but don't bat an eye at the fact that there are no sterilizing wipes at the gym (because people rubbing their pools of sweat into the machines with towels is completely kosher and sanitary.)
Seeing as I will be going to Stockholm, Sweden in a few weeks (Dec. 5) I find it timely to tell you the tale of how I personally grew to experience Stockholm syndrome within my own Spanish backyard (read: Dominoes) in a story that is surely the pinnacle example of how Spain just doesn't make sense. I will begin said story now.
It all started with a common goal and desire between my friends and me to eat as much good food as possible, as cheaply as possible. Mind you, this is before the days of me completely ripping a pair of jeans total Eat, Pray, Love style, so currently, I'm trying to reel it in a bit with the hotdog contest competition eating. For those of you whom are becoming super attracted to me now, just wait, the feelings will most assuredly grow stronger over future entries. However, this story takes place in a much more liberal time, where I would join any binge eating session with reckless abandon and without any hesitation.
All my friends and I have our vices of things we miss from home (Allyson's jalapenos, my Frank's Red Hot Sauce, everyone's love for Hidden Valley Ranch dressing etc.) so striking a good deal on some American food from time to time is obviously a solid win for everyone. Compound all of these desires in knowing you can get unlimited pizza somewhere for only €6,50 and it's obviously a done deal--thanks so much for the tip-off, Dillon.
With this new discovery in mind, we did what any starving group of American ladies would do: strategically plot our plan of attack for our day in the sun with Dominos. We all agreed that Sunday would be a great day to go, and that we should try to refrain as much as possible from eating prior to, in order for maximum pizza consumption to be had. Mid-day around 3:30 pm would be a prime time to go, so that the food could sustain us long into the night, a la Thanksgiving dinner style. An extensive whatsapp group chat was exchanged about what the proper attire was for this event and everyone agreed there was no other acceptable clothing apart from flowly tops and maternity pants that could allow for full utilitarian stretching and give for our future food babies. We were prepared, and ready to go full American on some American dining.
We arrived a little past 3:30 pm- myself, Luisa, Megan, Brittany, Allyson, Kelly, and our two patient and loving Spaniard accomplices of this endeavor, Jaime (Kelly's fiancé ) and Tito (Jaime's BFF.) I tell you that Jaime and Tito are Spanish now, not because it is currently relevant, but will become very important later on in the story.
We began ordering our first round of pizzas: pepperoni, barbeque, a meat lovers, and something like supreme. Some of us indulged in the unlimited and copious amount of free fountain soda, while others refrained from drinking too much, afraid that consumption would limit their pizza intake. We originally wanted to come prepared with a bottle of ranch from the American store, but seeing as it was the end of the month and some of us had run out of cash, we sadly didn't have the funds to pay for it-- but what a great idea.
I took a look around the restaurant and assessed the scene. Small tables of meek families minding their own. A few guys together wearing Abercrombie and Fitch. A man in KHAKI PANTS. KHAKI PANTS IN A DOMINOS!!!! My bleeding eyes!!!! Having seen enough rat-pack movies and general teenage flicks to realize, I could tell that we were the "it" group of the restaurant that day. Americans, boisterous and commanding, to the front of the restaurant, rolling eight deep, all dressed in clothing suitable for the event. The envious stares were obvious. My, my, my, how the tables had turned. On the outside of those doors I was another blonde, clueless American. But inside these doors? Inside these sacred doors of Dominoes, I was once again home in my American element. My friends and I were a wolf pack. We WERE The Plastics, or the Pink Ladies of Dominos, if you will. The pride swelled within me. I gave khaki boy a "yeah you wish you were us" type look. #1776.
At one point, a Dominos employee walked out of the kitchen with two hot pizzas and began taking them to the back of the restaurant. With zero hesitation, Jaime immediately raised his voice and his hand and flagged the lady down alerting her that those pizzas were ours. I told Kelly how proud I was of her man for taking such charge of flagging down our pizzas and that she is lucky to be marrying a man of such sustenance. She agreed and proceeded to tell me that they are the lone members of a "pizza club" and get pizza every week. I admired the pillars of their relationship. Some may say this pairing go together like peas and carrots, but I know better: cheese and pepperoni.
After about two or three rounds and roughly six or seven pizzas total (can anyone remember the precise figure?) we decided we had consumed our maximum allowance for the day. The girls and I gave Jaime and Tito our money, and they went to the front to settle up and pay. We sat there talking amongst ourselves, and after about four minutes, the boys came back to the table. We started to grab our purses ready to leave, but the boys stopped us.
"Okay, so here's the thing," Jaime calmly explained, "we can't go yet, we have to order another pizza."
The girls and I laughed at them and how adorable Jaime and Tito looked so somber and 'in character' as they tried to trick us that we weren't allowed to leave. We told them that they were funny and began to stand up ready for the door. With more fervor, Jaime stopped us again. "No, really, we can't leave. It's part of the deal, we have to stay!" He shrugged his shoulders in solidarity with Dominos, our captor, as if he truly agreed in the principle. We had accepted a challenge after all, and if we fell short, he agreed we served to suffer the consequences. Our Spanish boys admitted defeat and started asking us which pizza should be our last.
Meanwhile, my American comrades and I could not believe a)what bogus line we had just been told but moreover, b) that our men accepted it and gave it no question. Here we were at an "unlimited pizza" deal, with no restrictions, or should I say minimum requirements displayed on signage. We were perplexed and squabbled amongst ourselves. Some snip-its of our diatribe looked like this:
"How could this be?! We are trying to actually save them money by eating less for the same price. This makes LITERALLY ZERO sense. Why won't they won't let us leave?!"
"No wonder Spain's economy is a complete s***show right now"
"I seriously can't comprehend the words I'm hearing right now."
And there we remained, trapped in the stagnant yet fragrant air of a Dominos. My future flashed before my eyes, as I thought about what would be. Surely this wasn't grounds for an Argo type of rescue scenario.... or was it? All the while our men stood silently, heads down ready to eat our final pizza. Growing up their entire lives in Spain and knowing nothing different, they found nothing weird with this idea Dominos shared that day and were content with the fact that we would be held prisoner inside a fast food institution.
Slowly but steadily, the chorus from the popular Les Miserables song started to swell within my crew--sans gentlemen.
"Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry (wo)men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echos the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes..."
So Kellypolitely asked Jaime "will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?" brashly demanded, "Jaime, please just fix this and tell them that we aren't eating any more. If we really need to eat something else, make them give us one of those Ben and Jerry's behind the counter to go!"
Yes that actually happened, we bargained with our captors.
Finally, after what seemed like close to two full days but was actually more like 4 minutes, the Dominos employees let us go. We must have confused them with ourdiffering correct logic to the point that they didn't want to fight it any longer.
Stepping out of the door and towards the outside world, things seemed to happen in slow motion. The glances we swapped with each other silently seemed to say "you can breathe easy now, the worst is behind us." As our grins grew wider, I felt the sunshine warmly caress my face. The sun felt warmer than it did before we went to Dominos. Surely, colors were now brighter, and the air had a certain freshness that the smoke-polluted air of Madrid never had previously. High-fives abounded amongst ourselves. It was a happy time, and a time to be cherished. I thought about giving my earring to Luisa for her to remember me by like I had seen at the end of The Breakfast Club, but I reconsidered knowing I only brought a few pairs to Spain.
They say when you come back from war, you will always share a comradery with those that fought alongside you. There's a deep connection, an unexplainable bond that you share that no one else can quite understand. Walking out of that Dominos that day, I thought of my seven unique friends differently, with a heightened sense of respect, love and loyalty. Stockholm syndrome may be for the weak of heart, but it is also for the pizza lovers.
Seeing as I will be going to Stockholm, Sweden in a few weeks (Dec. 5) I find it timely to tell you the tale of how I personally grew to experience Stockholm syndrome within my own Spanish backyard (read: Dominoes) in a story that is surely the pinnacle example of how Spain just doesn't make sense. I will begin said story now.
It all started with a common goal and desire between my friends and me to eat as much good food as possible, as cheaply as possible. Mind you, this is before the days of me completely ripping a pair of jeans total Eat, Pray, Love style, so currently, I'm trying to reel it in a bit with the hotdog contest competition eating. For those of you whom are becoming super attracted to me now, just wait, the feelings will most assuredly grow stronger over future entries. However, this story takes place in a much more liberal time, where I would join any binge eating session with reckless abandon and without any hesitation.
All my friends and I have our vices of things we miss from home (Allyson's jalapenos, my Frank's Red Hot Sauce, everyone's love for Hidden Valley Ranch dressing etc.) so striking a good deal on some American food from time to time is obviously a solid win for everyone. Compound all of these desires in knowing you can get unlimited pizza somewhere for only €6,50 and it's obviously a done deal--thanks so much for the tip-off, Dillon.
With this new discovery in mind, we did what any starving group of American ladies would do: strategically plot our plan of attack for our day in the sun with Dominos. We all agreed that Sunday would be a great day to go, and that we should try to refrain as much as possible from eating prior to, in order for maximum pizza consumption to be had. Mid-day around 3:30 pm would be a prime time to go, so that the food could sustain us long into the night, a la Thanksgiving dinner style. An extensive whatsapp group chat was exchanged about what the proper attire was for this event and everyone agreed there was no other acceptable clothing apart from flowly tops and maternity pants that could allow for full utilitarian stretching and give for our future food babies. We were prepared, and ready to go full American on some American dining.
We arrived a little past 3:30 pm- myself, Luisa, Megan, Brittany, Allyson, Kelly, and our two patient and loving Spaniard accomplices of this endeavor, Jaime (Kelly's fiancé ) and Tito (Jaime's BFF.) I tell you that Jaime and Tito are Spanish now, not because it is currently relevant, but will become very important later on in the story.
We began ordering our first round of pizzas: pepperoni, barbeque, a meat lovers, and something like supreme. Some of us indulged in the unlimited and copious amount of free fountain soda, while others refrained from drinking too much, afraid that consumption would limit their pizza intake. We originally wanted to come prepared with a bottle of ranch from the American store, but seeing as it was the end of the month and some of us had run out of cash, we sadly didn't have the funds to pay for it-- but what a great idea.
I took a look around the restaurant and assessed the scene. Small tables of meek families minding their own. A few guys together wearing Abercrombie and Fitch. A man in KHAKI PANTS. KHAKI PANTS IN A DOMINOS!!!! My bleeding eyes!!!! Having seen enough rat-pack movies and general teenage flicks to realize, I could tell that we were the "it" group of the restaurant that day. Americans, boisterous and commanding, to the front of the restaurant, rolling eight deep, all dressed in clothing suitable for the event. The envious stares were obvious. My, my, my, how the tables had turned. On the outside of those doors I was another blonde, clueless American. But inside these doors? Inside these sacred doors of Dominoes, I was once again home in my American element. My friends and I were a wolf pack. We WERE The Plastics, or the Pink Ladies of Dominos, if you will. The pride swelled within me. I gave khaki boy a "yeah you wish you were us" type look. #1776.
At one point, a Dominos employee walked out of the kitchen with two hot pizzas and began taking them to the back of the restaurant. With zero hesitation, Jaime immediately raised his voice and his hand and flagged the lady down alerting her that those pizzas were ours. I told Kelly how proud I was of her man for taking such charge of flagging down our pizzas and that she is lucky to be marrying a man of such sustenance. She agreed and proceeded to tell me that they are the lone members of a "pizza club" and get pizza every week. I admired the pillars of their relationship. Some may say this pairing go together like peas and carrots, but I know better: cheese and pepperoni.
After about two or three rounds and roughly six or seven pizzas total (can anyone remember the precise figure?) we decided we had consumed our maximum allowance for the day. The girls and I gave Jaime and Tito our money, and they went to the front to settle up and pay. We sat there talking amongst ourselves, and after about four minutes, the boys came back to the table. We started to grab our purses ready to leave, but the boys stopped us.
"Okay, so here's the thing," Jaime calmly explained, "we can't go yet, we have to order another pizza."
The girls and I laughed at them and how adorable Jaime and Tito looked so somber and 'in character' as they tried to trick us that we weren't allowed to leave. We told them that they were funny and began to stand up ready for the door. With more fervor, Jaime stopped us again. "No, really, we can't leave. It's part of the deal, we have to stay!" He shrugged his shoulders in solidarity with Dominos, our captor, as if he truly agreed in the principle. We had accepted a challenge after all, and if we fell short, he agreed we served to suffer the consequences. Our Spanish boys admitted defeat and started asking us which pizza should be our last.
Meanwhile, my American comrades and I could not believe a)what bogus line we had just been told but moreover, b) that our men accepted it and gave it no question. Here we were at an "unlimited pizza" deal, with no restrictions, or should I say minimum requirements displayed on signage. We were perplexed and squabbled amongst ourselves. Some snip-its of our diatribe looked like this:
"How could this be?! We are trying to actually save them money by eating less for the same price. This makes LITERALLY ZERO sense. Why won't they won't let us leave?!"
"No wonder Spain's economy is a complete s***show right now"
"I seriously can't comprehend the words I'm hearing right now."
And there we remained, trapped in the stagnant yet fragrant air of a Dominos. My future flashed before my eyes, as I thought about what would be. Surely this wasn't grounds for an Argo type of rescue scenario.... or was it? All the while our men stood silently, heads down ready to eat our final pizza. Growing up their entire lives in Spain and knowing nothing different, they found nothing weird with this idea Dominos shared that day and were content with the fact that we would be held prisoner inside a fast food institution.
Slowly but steadily, the chorus from the popular Les Miserables song started to swell within my crew--sans gentlemen.
"Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry (wo)men. It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echos the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes..."
So Kelly
Yes that actually happened, we bargained with our captors.
Finally, after what seemed like close to two full days but was actually more like 4 minutes, the Dominos employees let us go. We must have confused them with our
Stepping out of the door and towards the outside world, things seemed to happen in slow motion. The glances we swapped with each other silently seemed to say "you can breathe easy now, the worst is behind us." As our grins grew wider, I felt the sunshine warmly caress my face. The sun felt warmer than it did before we went to Dominos. Surely, colors were now brighter, and the air had a certain freshness that the smoke-polluted air of Madrid never had previously. High-fives abounded amongst ourselves. It was a happy time, and a time to be cherished. I thought about giving my earring to Luisa for her to remember me by like I had seen at the end of The Breakfast Club, but I reconsidered knowing I only brought a few pairs to Spain.
They say when you come back from war, you will always share a comradery with those that fought alongside you. There's a deep connection, an unexplainable bond that you share that no one else can quite understand. Walking out of that Dominos that day, I thought of my seven unique friends differently, with a heightened sense of respect, love and loyalty. Stockholm syndrome may be for the weak of heart, but it is also for the pizza lovers.
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