Going back to work on Monday was quite the relief. The events of the previous week lingered, and I knew that there would always be a new 'association' with the music festival. However, the festival was now in the past, and Frank, the super dog, was starting to show signs of old. It was time for me to 'move on'.
I had spent a good deal of time in my kitchen on Sunday, and the results were dished up at lunchtime. I had never heard of a 'navy bean' before I moved here, and the first time I came across 'navy bean soup', I expected to see a bluish tint, but they are very white. One of Dana's favourite soups is 'navy bean', and if it is on the menu in a restaurant, he will order, at least, a cup. I decided to try my hand at making some. When looking for recipes, I found the term (obvious really) came from the fact that the Navy has used this bean as a staple since the 1800's and it has nothing to do with the colour! However, despite now knowing that there was not a hint of blue in the beans, I was faced with another dilemma. What on earth was a 'ham hock'. Apparently, in order to make the soup, I was required to find this item, cook it, and then discard it, as it was merely used for flavour. How can you substitute if you do not know what you are substituting! Not wishing to be beaten by a mere recipe, I used a modicum of 'word association', and put in to the concoction, a few strips of turkey bacon! After all, it was probably the sodium that was needed, especially if the meat was to be discarded! The result? Well my husband told me it was 'exquisite'. Much as there was not an atom's worth of pig, nor a hue of azure, this soup was, apparently, the best! Onwards and upwards with attempting to create the world's best tortilla soup! Somehow, I think the opposition may be a little more prolific! It seemed fitting, however, that as much as I wear in the said colour, 'Navy' should be a word that could be understood.
Not so much 'Strawberry'! As tough as the previous week had been, all appetites were restored, and all good things could be enjoyed, without wondering 'what if'. Much as I may receive a bunch of 'boos' and 'hisses', I will admit that I did go through the McDonald's drive thru! Yes, it is a drive 'thru', rather than a 'through', as it is written on the board. Would I like to point out their mistake? Of course, but when in Rome...... I know it has not stopped me before, but I had more pressing problems. "....and a strawberry milkshake, please". It was dubious whether I would receive the barbecue sauce with the nuggets, as I had to repeat myself a few times, but when retrieving my order, the item that should have been pink, was rather a muted brown. Just like the 'navy' in the bean, this was not strawberry. Samantha found it all very amusing, (until the sauce was noticed, and it was not barbecue,) and pointed out that I have to pronounce the 'berry' part of the word, and rather than use the colloquial 'bree', I should elongate the word. I still could not fathom how they could have misheard this to be 'chocolate'.
I was perfectly understood on Tuesday, when I sent an email to the company that 'manages' our office, and followed it up with a phone call. To cut a very long, (and boring,) story short, we office in the middle of three buildings. Each building has its own parking area, and each building has a different agency managing. I have no objection to anyone parking in our spaces, if their area is full, despite the situation not being reciprocated. However, our building now has full occupancy, and parking has become more limited. Those from the other building have been parking in our spaces, when there are many spaces available in theirs. Not sure as to why, I have become the 'parking police'. After sending several emails to our managing agent, and receiving a pleasant, 'we shall reach out to them' reply, they have continued to violate our space! I called our agency on Tuesday, after sending pictures of the offending vehicles, (if vehicles can offend,) and of the voluminous space in the other car parks. I was put on hold, and then told that my request was being dealt with, and I should see an improvement. I apologised for my constant complaining, but my staff (I resisted using the word 'guys') could not find anywhere to park. I was promised results.
The walk around to the supermarket was especially hard, but we knew not why, as the hills were no more steep than those downtown, and the distance was far shorter. Even the weather had cooled somewhat. "Would you like a bag?" I was asked, when I got to the cash desk. "No, thank you", was my answer. "Is that a 'yes' on the bag?" I shook my head. "No, thank you". Perhaps visual rejection would work. "So .... what's it to be?" I realised that my politeness in using the manners to which I had become accustomed, were throwing a spanner in the works. (Or should I say, wrench?) It was the 'thank you' that was causing the issue. "No!" was understood perfectly, and no offense taken for not adding the polite phrase. We returned to the office without a grocery store bag!
"Can you tell me who you are? My husband got a call from this number and asked me to call and find out who you are?" The call to my mobile was a little strange and the lady on the other end of the phone sounded unlike the usual solicitor that calls and asks for "Jose" and then, when told they have the wrong number, continue, "Well maybe you can help me!" I explained that I had not made a call today and did not recall calling anyone, from my cell phone, whom I did not know, and had not made any accidental calls. (A statement that surprised me more than her!) She continued, "Oh, well that's okay, he just asked me to call. He is on the road, and he got a call, and he asked me to find out who he was. He is in oil and is on the road a lot". She was definitely a 'southerner', as she fell into the category of "Only in Texas can you have a full conversation with a wrong number!" I let her know my city and state, and she continued. "Well I am from Tennessee and he is from Kentucky, and we live in Georgia, and I told him that number was from Texas, but he asked me to call and so I did". It was quite amusing. Of course, I had to let her know that my husband's family was from Georgia, and Alabama. After a few minutes, we bid each other farewell, with, "Have a great rest of your day!"At the end of the call, all eyes were upon me. I had been on the phone for a while. There were now 'whoops' and 'hollers', so I had obviously not won anything, but I was smiling and it was a call on my cell phone. "And she understood what you said?" said Dana, when I relayed the contents of the conversation. I told him that I had not said very much, as she had carried the conversation, but yes, the few words that I had contributed had been understood. Could I finally be blending in?
The answer to the obvious rhetorical question above, was an emphatic "No!" The day continued and the phone calls on the office phone, were coming in at an advanced speed. Most were recordings, telling me that I had time to enrol for a healthcare programme, or that I was entitled to a 'medical device', that would save my life, and then there were those asking me what kind of home improvements I wanted, as I qualified or a gigantic home improvement loan. Finally, there was a human voice on the other end. "We have citations ready and were asked to call you!" said the sweet sounding voice, adding that she was from a distant courthouse, somewhere in Texas. I responded with my usual questions. Could I please have a case number. "A what now?" Okay, we were off. I have developed an affection for the phrase, "A what now". It is so, well, Texan! A case number. "I am sorry, I do not understand". A case number! The number of the case? "Oh! Yeah...I am sorry, I didn't understand you". The case number was given, and we continued. I asked if it would be okay to send a stamped addressed envelope to collect the papers. "A what now?" was followed by a giggle. I repeated my question. "I am sorry, I don't understand. Where are you from?" The response was in the form of the usual blurb. I was born in Central London, lived just outside London, and have lived here for fourteen years". The giggling was profuse. "I got London. Did you say fourteen years? And you haven't lost your accent? I can't understand you but you can keep talking. I love it!" I told her that if she thought this was funny she should see what happens in restaurants! I never get what I order. She understood that and giggled even more. Eventually, we established that I could send an envelope and she would return the documents to me. She hoped we would speak again!
"Straw-bay-ree", I repeated, only once, to the machine that took my order. It understood. A pink mixture filling a plastic cup was retrieved at the window. Yes, that was all. No, I did not say thank you, until after the transaction was well and truly completed!
Wednesday was probably my most testing day. It was not only my language that was misunderstood, but that of the language being spoken to me. I received a call from what sounded like a very distressed person. I was not sure as to the language, but when the call finally ended, I checked the number from where it came, and it was a nursing home. I called them. Apparently, everything was fine, and no reports of distress had been received at the nursing station, so all was good. I was not fully convinced, but chose to take the word of the person to whom I spoke. When I received the second call, I heard someone ask, "What are you doing?" and the call ended. Upon the third one, I started to get suspicious. I called back, whilst the party was still on the other line. "No, nothing wrong here". I explained that the person was still on the phone, and perhaps a nurse or member of staff could see who it was. "Oh it's okay. All the patients have phones in their room. It could be anyo one of them". It was not okay. This lady was calling me, regularly, and no one saw a problem. "Why is it a problem. All is okay here", did not sit well with me! I retrieved the call where the lady was still babbling. "Votre-nom", I said, thinking that perhaps French would work. Obviously, it did not, but it was the first one that came to mind, as I knew the cockney, "What's yer 'andle", would never work. "Cómo te llamas... umm ... nombre?" This appeared to strike a chord and the rambling stopped for a second or two. However, much as I could possibly make myself understood, I could not understand her. My daughter, who had been intrigued by this sudden lack of English, appeared at my side. "Look up, call a nurse to the phone", I demanded. She did a she was told. "Llame a una enfermera al telefono", I attempted. Silence, then more mumbling. "Por favor!" Silence, then more mumbling. Eventually she replaced the receiver, and made one more call. I vowed to call the nursing home back, or at least find a managing agent!
My faith in managing agents was dwindling, when on Thursday morning, an offending vehicle pulled into its accustomed unauthorized parking space. I decided to take matters into my own hands, and as the driver merrily strolled across our parking lot, to her building, I called after her. At first, she appeared not to hear me, so I called again. She turned. "Excuse me, but you cannot leave your car here." A young, attractive, fresh faced, girl with long blonde hair, looked at me with doe like eyes, and a confused (perhaps not honest) look upon her face. "But my office is just there", she said, pointing to the next building, where there was just one other car in their lot. I explained the rules. "Oh, is that new. I always park here" I explained that I knew, but it was a violation, and no, it was not new. The rather large signs, that are unmissable, both at the entrance, and which she could hardly fail to notice when walking back to her car (I did not point out the obvious) very clearly stated whom could park here. "Huh?" Oh no, what words did I use that were not understanding. Perhaps it was "cannot"! She stood, with a look of "What do I do now?" upon her face, and I stood with a look of "Move it now", with a hint of "please" on mine! Guess who won? A hubbub went around the office. The 'mean' Englishwoman made her move! I made two quick observations. Either she had not been asked not to park in the space, in which case the building managers were not being honest, or she had and she was not being honest. With such a look of innocence upon her face, how could I not believe her. Easy! I was once that young!
I was looking forward to my Saturday. A regular Saturday sticking to a boring routine and enjoying every minute. After my recent crash course in Spanish, I felt I could conquer the world. We went to Sam's Club, and browsed. At the meat counter, there was a woman having a conversation with the butcher. He was quite emphatic. "What are the saying?", asked Samantha, with a look of gleeful encouragement. "Oh she is asking for some ham hock, and he is saying, 'We ain't got none. Use turkey bacon'." The conversation continued and the butcher became more emphatic. "Oh, I can't repeat that...nor that!" I said to my giggling daughter. We came to the check out. "Do you want to upgrade your membership?" asked the woman behind the counter, to another woman who stood in front of me in the queue. "No. She doesn't", I said looking back at my daughter, and rather quietly. "No, gracias", I said, after the sales person repeated the question in Spanish. She then turned to the woman's daughter, asked if she spoke English, and then told her to explain, again, in Spanish, what she had just said in two languages. "What part of 'no' did she not understand. The word was the same in both languages! I should know. I was now bilingual. Tri-lingual if you count the French. Multi lingual if cockney is added!
Once in Costco, we roamed the aisles. A young boy was whimpering and his father was quite unsympathetic. "What are they saying?" asked my daughter with that gleeful look upon her face. I told her that the young lad was concerned as to why the lady in Sam's did not want to upgrade her account, and the father was simply stating, "She don't want none". It is amazing how a lack of grammar seeps through to all dialects!
With a renewed sense of confidence, I joined my husband for dinner at the Brazilian restaurant. Despite it not being a special occasion, they had a special offer. We sat down, and when asked if there was anything extra I required, I asked for some horseradish sauce. The first waiter called a second who called a third. Eventually a fourth, a young lady, came over and asked if she could help. "Horse relish? No, we do not have horse!" It would appear that someone did hear, and understand, as the sauce was brought to the table, which seemed to appease the young lady who had a look of horror on her face. As I was sitting, I noticed a young girl at the salad bar. Tall, willowy and young, presumably on a date, as there was a lack of rings adorning her fingers, (I know that does not mean a thing,) and wearing a somewhat short, and flimsy dress, with shoes that I found to be un-matching. I did not care much for the whole outfit, but it was merely my opinion. She probably did not care for mine. However, I must have glanced for a couple of moments too many, which no doubt constituted staring, and I received a look that was universal. Language does not come into play when a woman looks at another. "Yes, I am young, I still have it. (Whatever it is.) I have it all ahead of me." I smiled. Raised my eyebrows with a, "Yes, you are, and oh boy are you in for a shock! I had it and I have come through the other end! Eat your heart out! (I apologise to any men who are not 'getting' this, but women will understand. - It reminded me of the scene in the movie "Fried Green Tomatoes...", when Kathy Bates was beaten to parking spot by two young girls, and they taunted her with their youth. She then smashed their car, and taunted them with the fact that being mature meant insurance was less!) The smugness left her face, and I knew that the language of 'woman' had been spoken on both sides, and understood. Perhaps not word for word, but gist for gist! I had been through this once this week!
The language barrier will always exist, and the division between the common languages is probably harder to overcome than different languages altogether, as if I can generally make myself understood to someone who does not speak a variation of English. Despite the appearance of frustration, it rarely exists, as the misunderstanding works two ways. I may follow up on the nursing home issue, just because it seemed a little uncaring, for what is after all known as the 'caring' profession. I understand that they are very busy, but a mere, "We will look into it" would have been a better answer. However, as I said, I am not sure appeasement would have worked, considering that is all I got from our office building managers!
I am currently working in the language I understand. My kitchen! When all else fails, go to the kitchen and cook something! No doubt, in time, I will have another 'go to' thing to do, but for now, pastries rule! Next weekend is Easter weekend, but we do not have any extra time away from the office. Samantha and I have had to postpone our mother-daughter trip, this year, due to our staffing problems, but I am sure we will find something to do, and rearrange at some point. Obviously, any developments will be added to .......... another story!
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