Objectively

The commute felt standard, stagnant. Another shift of setting hot chocolate on the tables of the foreigners, to ask them if they would like their coffee with milk and sugar, to offer them sweets, and to answer their every question about their destination.

           The train attendant, a small, thin figure with long dark hair and skin a shade lighter walked quickly through the aisle of the train, headed towards the back, where a small girl stood. The girl to no surprise, held out her phone with the Instagram App open, but she wasn’t filming. Instead, she stared out, awestruck at the marvel through window, forgetting about adding it to her story.  

           “You have to sit down while the train is moving,” the attendant said to the girl, having reached the back of the train.

           The girl nearly jumped, looking up at the attendant with blue eyes that pierced.

“It is just so beautiful.” The girl beamed, but she obeyed, slinking past the attendant with her head slightly bowed.

           The attendant watched as the girl took her seat in one of the rows towards the middle. She sat beside a woman who looked like an older version of herself and across from a small blonde boy and a man with short brown hair and a perfectly trimmed beard. The attendant looked away from the family, turning her own attention to the window, slightly smirking because although she scolded the blonde girl, she would stand there for minutes, staring out at the green, wishing she could be out there rather than serving the tourists, the ones who would mock her, the ones who built their world on assumptions.

           Tourism was a strange industry. There was a fine line between exploitation of a culture and the willingness to share it with strangers. As much as the attendant loved to travel, she thought of this often, of the pros and the cons of entering a foreign place and experiencing it all from a lens that made it romantic rather than real.

           She sighed, unable to lose herself completely in her own thoughts as the passengers would soon finish their coffee and cocoa and want water or tea or another treat. She spun around and walked up the aisle to the head of the train to consult with Pedro, the other train attendant. “It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked when she came over.

           She nodded. The two of them brought out the big gray cart with the trash-bags on either end and kettles filled with hot water and coffee on top of it. The pair pushed the cart down the aisle.

           “Are you finished?” She would ask one table while Pedro would ask another. And they would collect the cups and wrappers and plates. And she would take note of the crumbs and the splatters of coffee against the white cotton tablecloth, wondering why the company insisted on continuing to use white although it dirtied quickly. They were in constant need for new tablecloths as a simple wash often failed to do the job.  

           The female attendant approached the table where the blonde, blue eyed girl who’d been standing at the window sat. The girl looked up as the attendant began to clear the table. The attendant watched her in return, taking note of her long blonde hair that stopped at her shoulders, her pearly skin, her perfectly symmetrical face, her blue eyes. Another white face that looked the same as the others. She pursed her lips, hoping that this one wouldn’t ask for a photo like the one on the last train had. For the most part, the tourists were usually kind enough, albeit at times ignorant. They were excited to reach their destination. And they made pleasant small talk and simple requests from the attendants. There were, of course, always a few rude remarks, but typically, they were brushed away quickly, forgotten by the time they reached the next row of seats. The train attendant didn’t understand why the woman’s voice from earlier that day rang in her ears.

           “I’m an influencer, you see, I have to show my fans I’m here! It is so beautiful, so if you could just get the little coffee mug in…” the woman pretended to take a sip of her café con leche and the attendant snapped a photo on her large iPhone. She handed the phone back to the woman.

           “Can you take it again, actually?”

           The attendant obliged. “Of course.”

           “Thank you.”

           The attendant took several photos before handing the phone back to the woman. She tried to work in different angles, zooming in and out, playing with the screen to focus on the woman’s pale, rosy face. She wore her light blonde hair in two French braids that thinned at the ends and were tied up with small pink bows. She was one of the women who seemed so effortlessly beautiful, her body sculpted and shaped perfectly, the attendant admired her defined collarbone that peaked out of her low-cut t-shirt. The attendant had learned to not compare herself to other women, especially not in the tourism industry, as everyone on vacation wanted to look perfect even if they would be spending the day enveloped in sweat and stained by sunburn.

           “Better?” The attendant asked the woman.

           She nodded, scrolling through the twenty photos the attendant had taken. “Thank you!”

           “Of course. Is there anything else you needed?” She asked. The seats across from the woman were filled by two sleeping Chinese tourists, an older couple. The one beside her was empty.

           “Where are you from?”

           “I’m from here,” the attendant replied, used to getting the question.

           “Oh! Like here, here?”

           “Yes, I’m from Cusco, where you flew in.”

           “But you…”

           “Yes?”

           “You don’t exactly look like the indigenous people.” Full stop.

           It took her 10 seconds to think of a proper response. “I guess everyone looks a little bit different though, don’t they?”

           The woman laughed, her laugh, of course, sounding like bells. “I suppose not. You are very pretty though, of course, I don’t mean to offend you. Sometimes, I wish my hair was as dark as yours.”

           “No offense taken.” The attendant smiled.

Rude tourists weren’t anything new. Rude tourists telling her she did not look indigenous was nothing new. Rude tourists telling her to not be offended was nothing new. It should be in the job description, really: be ready to be told no offense, although when someone says no offense, they mean to offend you.

“If only you had blue eyes,” the woman hadn’t known when to stop. “Then, you would be so pretty. Have you thought about getting contacts?”

           The attendant stared at her blue eyes intently, waiting for the next comment to hit, preparing herself with a polite response. She counted. Uno. Dos. Tres. Cuatro. Cinco. Seis—

           “Because, you know, blue eyes are objectively the most beautiful shade.”

           The train attendant nodded. She smiled tightly and pushed the cart away, urging Pedro to hurry up with the tables. She continued to clear plates and saucers and cups and wrappers without asking if she could clear them, but keeping the big smile, all teeth, plastered on her face.

           “Can I have another cup of tea?” the girl asked again, and the attendant snapped back into reality.

           She nodded. “Of course.” And poured hot water into the white porcelain mug on the table.

           “Thank you so much, Claudia.” She pronounced Claudia with the emphasis on the “clou” sound, close to how a native speaker would say it. Claudia, the train attendant nodded, smiling at the girl in all of her white-ness. But at least this one could say her name, or at least try. It was not redemption in any way for the rude tourists who came before or would come after, but it was something. For now, kept her from quitting. She wondered if she should have corrected the woman on the train before her. The word objectively filled her mind, and nevertheless, she grinned at the girl for knowing how to pronounce her name.