What about my tampons?

31 January 2012

Last week on Thursday, my purse was stolen.  Greg, Brian and I went to Kachito’s for some pollo a la brasa for dinner.  I had my purse on the chair next to me—a woman at the next table caught my attention to tell me it had fallen off, and I thanked her, putting it back on the chair, but closer to me this time.  I pulled out my wallet to make sure I had enough cash to pay for dinner and saw that I only had 20 soles—enough for dinner, but I’d need to go to the bank afterwards.  Purse went back on the chair.

We ordered and then a man tapped Greg on the shoulder, bending down to pick something up off of the floor.  He handed it to him—a business card?  What?

We all looked at each other, confused.  Something about that was weird.  Then I realized my purse was gone, along with the man who had been sitting alone behind me.

Well, f*ck…

The most valuable thing I’d had with me was my camera, so sadly I am going to be sans photographs for a while—I’m still not sure if I should buy one here or try to get the same one I’d had sent to me from the States.  I’ll decide when I see how much money I get from my property insurance (best $70/year ever spent!).  I also filed for the purse and wallet themselves, the memory card that was in the camera, my USB memory stick, and my prescription sunglasses.  Thankfully all of my photographs were already on my computer.

I’m still angry.  In my mind, I head over the “used” (but everyone knows it’s “stolen”) electronics market in Trujillo and steal back my own camera.  And for some reason I really want to explain to my robbers that I’m not the obnoxious rich tourist they probably assume I am—I want there to have been something in my purse that says, hey, you just robbed someone whose job it is to try to fix your screwed up country, how dare you? 

Not that tourists deserve to be robbed, even if some of them do wear filthy genie pants or walk down city sidewalks with walking sticks.  I think I’m picking up a little superiority complex from completely unrelated day-to-day incidents, like everyone assuming I don’t know where I’m going or that I must be going to Huanchaco or that I want to buy their tour packages or that I don’t know how much the cab ride costs so they can charge me double.  Smiling at me like, awww, look at the lost little gringa.  I’m not LIKE those other tourists, dammit!  I LIVE here!  The only proof I had of that was the residency card tucked inside my passport—I have to get a new one from the American embassy the next time I go to Lima.

And what about my other stuff, that I can’t claim on my insurance settlement but still valued?  That’s what makes me feel most violated, and insulted, even, since I know they just threw it away like trash.  The mini $1 hand sanitizer and the mini hand cream my Aunt Mary gave me, and one of the sunscreen sticks Tommy got me for Christmas.  My two favorite lip glosses were in there, too (Side note: why do I also have multiple lip glosses with me??).  And tucked inside my purse’s little secret pocket: tampons!  What did they do with my tampons??