How to win an argument: “Tome chichí"

In my almost ten months here in Costa Rica I’d had nothing but pleasant experiences.  I feel like my Spanish is growing almost every day; I have ordered food in restaurants, asked for directions, gone through immigration (twice and never been detained) been to customs to pick up a package, and even spoke at a parents meetings.  However, the one thing I had never done was argue, well that is until yesterday. 

This weekend I went to San Vito, a town in the South of Costa Rica, close to Panama, with a bunch of the other volunteers.  We went to visit one of the volunteers whose Site Placement is very close to there.  My travel buddy AnneMarie and I left our town Turrialba on Friday and headed to San Jose.  When we got to the station in San Jose we had to take a taxi to the second bus station that would take us South.  We ended up with a very nice taxi driver who practiced his English.  While in the taxi I noticed the meter was stuck on 590 colones and we had already passed several blocks.  Normally when I get in a taxi, the numbers pass rather quickly, so I instantly assumed that it was either broken or turned off, so I asked him about it.  He reassured me that it was fine and we arrived at our destination with a fare of about 640 colones.  As we left he wished us well and warned us not to talk to men.

Fast forward to yesterday when we came back North.  When we got to the station in San Jose we looked for a taxi.  The taxi drivers usually bum rush you when you leave the station and being a seasoned traveler I knew the guys who wait outside on foot are usually the pirate taxis who charge whatever they want since they don’t have a meter.  After bypassing all of them, AnneMarie and I walked to a marked taxi and got in.  I told him we were headed to the bus station for Turrialba.  He drove off.  The meter was turned off and said to him, could you please turn on the meter.  He replied, “no, this trip cost 1000 (colones).”  I said, “That is not fair, you know that if I ask you to put on the meter you are obligated to do so.”  He replied once again with “no this trip cost 1000 (colones).”  I replied, “No it does not.  I just took this trip and it did not cost 1000 (colones).”  He replied smugly with, “So how much does it cost then?” Being that I couldn’t remember the exact amount, and refused to give in, I responded with, “about 600 (colones).”  He turned on the meter and said, rather sarcastically, “Ok, let’s see if it costs 600 (colones).” 

Poor AnneMarie sat in silence as the driver and I argued.  I would call myself fluent in Spanish, but sometimes when I get excited my words get jumbled; this was not one of those times.  I was firm, and did not back down.  I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing until I realized we hadn’t exactly arrived at our destination, and sat quietly praying that he wouldn’t take some random back alley route to make the fare higher. Luckily he wasn’t a complete monster and we arrived shortly after.  I looked at the meter and the fare came to about 650 colones.  I know I didn’t have to but I couldn’t help saying, “Oh yeah that really is a 1000 colones.” However, in my head I was thinking “Tome chichí” a popular phrase used in Costa Rica, which means take that.  AnneMarie hopped out and I handed him 700 colones.  As I was getting ready to close the door he went to hand me back the 50 colones change and I said “No, you keep it,” and slammed the door.  I brought out my inner New Yorker and victory was mine.  AnneMarie gave me a high five as we walked to the station and congratulated me on my success.  She later said she was secretly praying that he didn’t have a gun, I didn’t worry about that in Costa Rica, but had we been in the U.S. I might not have been so sassy.