Of Cholas and Irvineites

Or: The Time I Almost Got Beat By A Real Life Chola

Growing up in Orange County, I was very sheltered in terms of not really knowing about other ethnicities and the threat of gangs. With a loud Mexican family on my mom’s side, I was always teased about how much of an Irvinite I was and that I didn’t even know any "real" Mexicans. I always denied the accusations that my cousins threw at me, thinking that my awareness of Mexican traditions and culture was enough. After all, it’s not my fault and I love my little bubble of Irvine.

Feeling like a night out with my older cousin Shannon and friend Kelly from home, Shannon came up with the idea that we should go out to LA. Excited by the fact that we were traveling outside of our comfortable bubble to the big city, Kelly and I dressed to the nines. Dresses, heels, the whole deal. Well what my cousin forgot to mention, is that we were going to stop over in East LA to this authentic Mexican fast food place called King Taco. Loving every taco and sopa, I wasn’t sure how Kelly would take it. As we drove up to the older and more culturally diverse location, I noticed that there were a lot of people. Though it was nighttime and not the best area, I thought well, nothing will happen because look at all the people.

Shannon decides to get in line, since Kelly and I cannot order for ourselves in Spanish, and we decide to slip inside and go to the bathroom. That’s when the real fun began. The very first second I walk inside the bathroom, I look around and see that there are about five chola- looking girls, a little older than me, congregating around the stalls. Trying not to freak out too early, I don’t make eye contact but of course can’t help but stare at their Dickie pants, wife- beaters, red lipstick, and penciled-in eyebrows. I can feel them up-and-downing me, looking at my ridiculous dress. This is definitely a type of Mexican girl that I’ve only heard about. Immediately closing the bathroom door behind me, I take a couple breaths and hope that Kelly is not noticing the danger that we possibly could have walked into.

Thinking about the Jack Lopez essay, "Of Cholos and Surfers," I probably should have just been calm and cool, making myself to be on just the same level as the cholas. But it was a little hard to do that in a fancy dress and heels. I probably wouldn’t have even made it out the door if the girls had decided to pummel me. As all these thoughts go through my head while I’m in the stall, I gather myself, take a breath, and walk back into the war zone -- the sink. I barely speak to Kelly, hoping my eyes would tell her to stay calm and don’t act to Valley girl or obvious Orange County native.

Once we are both ready to leave, I lead and give a quick grin to at least acknowledge the cholas. Surprisingly, they just look at me and move aside to let us out. As soon as we reach the freedom of the public restaurant, I take a deep breath and ask Kelly what she thought of her first chola encounter. She had no idea what didn’t but could’ve happened.

--Jessica Fernandez