All the People Know

The “Indoor Sleeper” label on my new slippers has got me wondering. It could be that here in Andalucía the designation “Indoor Sleeper” serves as a kind of status symbol: in July and August, people who don’t have air conditioning, people like me, often become what we might call “Outdoor Sleepers,” snoozing on the roof or terrace at night; meaning that the people who do have air conditioning, the people who will not be sleeping on the roof or terrace come July, might properly be called “Indoor Sleepers.” In which case wearing a slipper called “Indoor Sleeper” could be like wearing a shirt with a polo player on it: whether or not you really are among the privileged and pompous, your casual wear suggests that you are. In a Polo shirt and a pair of Indoor Sleeper slippers, you can feel like you’re really somebody special, even if you don’t have air conditioning or know the first thing about polo.

All this said, I have a hunch that “Indoor Sleeper” is in fact another example of Spanish having its way with foreign words. Why do I think that? The answer has less to do with footwear than with pole dancing. Not long ago I came across a poster in Córdoba announcing a performance by the “Streep Boys.” First I thought “Streep” had to be a typo. This was not an organization of male Meryl Streep fans; surely it was a band of DJs called the “Street Boys.” I was all set to track down the group and point out the typo, save them further embarrassment, when a colleague informed me that “Streep Boys” is the generic term in Spain for male strippers. That is to say, the Streep Boys are Strip Boys. “Streep” is how “strip” sounds when pronounced by a Spaniard.

This would explain what I discovered when I went back and studied the Streep Boys poster up close. The background of the poster featured a well cut male torso. Mr. Córdoba, Mr. Sevilla, and Mr. Málaga were due to appear at a local nightclub the coming Saturday. I quietly thanked the Streep Boys for abbreviating “Mister,” then could not help thinking how bad the word “streep” would look back home in the States. Back home, the misspelling would like as not be used pejoratively, to make ugly fun of a foreigner’s pronunciation. (Or maybe to tout South of the Border.) Here in Spain, it is used to render the sound of a foreign word as it might be pronounced by a monolingual local—a gesture of linguistic good will, as it were, from the Streep Boys.

But hang on. The Spanish double-“e” does not sound like the English double-“e.” The Spanish double-“e” is closer to the English long “a.” The verb leer (to read) does not sound like the name of a ruined king in Shakespeare, or something a mischievous child might do. It is closer to a “layer” of cake. So that, if streep were pronounced by a Spaniard who is not familiar with English—or perhaps even one who is, seeing as streep is not a word in English—we might think he is referring to a contagious throat ailment, i.e. the Strep Boys.

Back to my colleague. She knows that the English “ee” sounds like the Spanish “i” because she is an advanced ESL student, but how would the average Spaniard, say somebody on the lookout for a male striptease, know that the English “ee” sounds like the Spanish “i”?

“That’s easy,” my colleague said. “All the people know the Backstreet Boys.”

“Oh.”

Alas. Boy bands cover a lot more ground than visiting ESL instructors. Curiosity depressed the cat. But it also helped explain something. Bearing in mind “streep” for “strip,” maybe an “Indoor Sleeper” is actually an “Indoor Slipper.” Maybe the label on my slipper is not intended to suggest status, but simply to tell me what the product is. In case you forgot, this is an Indoor Slipper.

But then what about “Indoor”? How did that get here? A boy band called the “Indoor Boys”? I don’t want to know. Whatever they are called and why-ever they are called that, my Indoor Sleeper slippers are right comfortable. At about two euros, they were quite the deal. I can’t vouch for the Streep Boys.

________________________________________________

Charlie Geer is the author of the novel “Outbound: The Curious Secession of Latter-Day Charleston.” His work has appeared in Tin House, The Sun, Bloomsbury Magazine, and The Southern Review.