Más o Menos Peligrosa

Strikes happen at La Universidad de Chile, that's a known fact. There's usually at least a couple of weeks in total (bastante veces more) of them. But, being the naive gringa that I am, I thought that the first one wouldn't happen until at least about a month or two after school starts.

Reality: Day 9 (Thur, 3/19): The first strike occurs. Oh great. 

It wasn't a big strike, so I was kind of confused about what was going on. "Maybe it's just a carrete [party]," I naively thought. I mean, after all, people were holding beer bottles. I continue walking down the street that runs parallel to the university. Soon, I hear a beer bottle whiz by me and crash onto the ground. Oh, so that's what they're using them for. Not for drinking, but rather for throwing. Ok, let's be real, they're for drinking THEN throwing (those Chileans like their beer...they're not going to waste a good Escudo or Cristal). Immediately afterwards, I see students hurl what appears to be a couple of mini-bombs over the high fence surrounding La Chile, and across the street (although I didn't see anything blow up so I have no idea what it was...maybe tear gas, I don't know). FUCK. "Who are they throwing them at?" I wondered. I look across the street, and there are a bunch of pacos (policemen) in what appeared to be quasi-combat uniform, with masks over their face, and guns at their sides. I couldn't believe this was happening already. Farther down the street appeared to be absent of students and policemen, so I made a "backpack run" (arms straight, legs extended, backpack flopping up and down) for it. Speaking of backpack runs and their derivatives, a few days ago, I saw a short, skinny, and adorable old Chilean man do the "one-armed run" (sin backpack, but carrying a stack of books) across campus, which is a classic I haven't seen in a while. It's good to know that that form of running i still utilized and has not gone extinct yet. Anyway, I seemed to be the only one running frantically for my life. Of course, all the other Chilenos behind me were fucking tranquilos, just walking calmly, as if this was just a typical Thursday and nothing was going on. So of course I end up looking like the scared and wimpy gringa. I wouldn't be surprised if they were all laughing at me. In fact, they probably still are.  

After this 100 yard dash that I completed, I was still trying to decide if I still wanted to go to class (instead of going home), for 2 reasons:

1) The strike appeared to be a pretty small strike, and only happening on one end of the campus, and my class was on the other end.

2) It was my photography class, which I hadn't checked out yet, and I was DESPERATE to see how it was. 

So, I go to the other end of campus. and ask the security guard (there are various security guards at different points on the border of campus), "What's happening?"

"What do you mean what's happening?"

"Is there a strike?"

"Not that I know of...why, did you see anything?" [Fuck, you're the security guard, it's your job to know this kind of shit].

"Well there are people throwing beer bottles and maybe mini-bombs across the street to the policemen."

"People are throwing stuff?" [No, I'm making up a really cute and funny story to tell you because you looked really bored]. 

"Yes."

"And there's policemen here?" [No, sir, just unicorns].

"YES."

"Interesting." [More like life-threatening, weón]

"Yes. Errr, are these strikes usually pretty dangerous?"

"Más o menos." [What the fuck do you mean más o menos?!?"]

"Más o menos" [More or less] was basically the security guard's way of expressing his chillness concerning the strikes, like "Oh, sometimes it can be dangerous, I guess. You know, whatever." Fuck, dude, people are throwing unidentified types of weapons to policemen who seemed ready to fight back if agitated enough, how the fuck can it be "Más o menos dangerous?!?"

So I go to class, and it wasn't even the kind of photography class that I wanted to take because it turned out to be a really intense journalism class where you take pictures and write a shitload of articles, which would be hard enough in English. Hell no if I'm going to try to do that in Spanish. I'm all about going outside my comfort zone, but I also know my limits. So I half-risked my life to look at a class that I now don't even want to take. Luckily, the same teacher teaches a basic photography class, so I'm going to check it out next week, of course hoping I don't have to encounter a strike again. If that's the case, I'm not bothering to go to class, and I'm sending my ass back home.

Days in school so far: 9. Strike count: 1. This is going to be a long semester.