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(Not exactly me in the picture, but close enough!!)
I fought a bull in a small town in Spain.
Then, a few hours later, I accidentally told the mayor I was wearing panties.
After graduating from Princeton, I didn’t run toward Wall Street—I ran away from it. I wanted adventure. And I got it.
I worked on a farm in Switzerland, taught English in Spain, spent time on a kibbutz, and even dined in Fez with my eleven-year-old tour guide and his veiled family.
But the most memorable misfire happened in a mountain town outside Madrid: Bustarviejo.
The Bullring
Bustarviejo had a tradition: young men proved their machismo by stepping into a ring with a young bull. Not a full corrida—just a test of bravado.
As the token foreigner—El Americano—I didn’t get to sit this one out. Someone handed me a cape. Suddenly I was in the ring, soaking in the applause, convinced I was Spain’s next great matador.
Then I made the rookie mistake: I turned my back on the bull.
That’s when I heard it:
“¡Cuidado! ¡Cuidado! ¡Joder! ¡Corre, corre!”
I spun around just in time to see the bull charging straight at me.
Terror hit.
I ran.
I bolted for the stands, scrambled up the bleachers, and felt a horn rip my pants as I barely escaped.
The crowd went wild.
In their eyes, I wasn’t the idiot who almost got gored—I was the crazy American who faced a bull and lived.
The Mayor’s Question
Later that evening, the mayor himself came over, smiling, as people slapped me on the back, congratulating me for my “bravery.”
It was a cold October night. He noticed I wasn’t shivering.
“Norman — ¿no tienes frío?”
Aren’t you cold?
Feeling proud of my Spanish, I answered:
“No, señor. Llevo mi chaqueta, mi camisa… y además de esto, ¡llevo mis bragas también!”
I meant:
“I’m fine—I’ve got my jacket, my shirt… and my underwear.”
What I actually said in modern Castilian Spanish was:
“I’m fine—I’ve got my jacket, my shirt… and my panties.”
Here’s what I didn’t know:
In the Ladino Spanish I grew up with, bragas simply meant underwear.
In modern Spanish?
It means panties.
Very specifically… lacy women’s panties.
For a moment, silence.
Then the entire square erupted in laughter.
My Spanish roommates doubled over. The mayor clutched his sides. People were wiping tears from their eyes.
And I just stood there, smiling like an idiot… until someone leaned over and explained what I had just said.
I turned red—redder than the cape I had waved in the bullring.
Tapas and Laughter
By the time we made it to the bar, I was laughing too.
The mayor bought cervezas and tapas for everyone, and every few minutes someone would lean over, whisper “bragas,” and the whole table would explode all over again.
That night, in one small Spanish town, I managed to almost get gored…
…and also announce to a crowd that I was apparently wearing women’s underwear.
Turns out, near-death experiences—and mistranslations—are great for bonding.
The Real Lesson
Most people spend their lives trying to avoid embarrassment.
Which is probably why they never end up in stories like this.
✍️ Against the Norm is where I share stories like this—misadventures, close calls, and things that seemed like a good idea at the time.
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What’s the funniest language mistake you’ve ever made?
