(I am visiting the Holocaust Museum. I am in a room full of framed pictures and digital displays, with picture slideshows of the war crime trials. There are some teenagers sitting around playing on their phones. An old couple are looking at the slideshows.)

Old Woman: “How do you get the pictures to stop moving?”

(She tries touching the screen.)

Old Man: “Here, let me try.”

(They both assume it is a touch-screen, and are pressing hard against it.The teenagers see this, and start laughing to each other.)

Teenager: “Look at these senile old people!”

(They begin filming the old couple, who are still trying to get the slideshow to stop. A tour guide has heard the noise, and comes over to see what is wrong.)

Guide: “Can I help you?”

Old Woman: “Yes, what button do we need to press to get the picture to stop?”

Guide: “You can’t stop them; it’s a looping slideshow. I think it’s only for two minutes, so you can just wait for it to repeat.”

Old Woman: “But those pictures change so fast!”

Guide: “Is there a reason you need to see all these pictures?”

Old Man: “Yes, I’m looking for the pictures of the bench.”

Guide: “Oh, well there are several photos just over here from the trials. Here’s one.”

(He directs them to the opposite wall to several pictures hidden among a few dozen others.)

Old Woman: “There you are!”

(She grows very excited, and points to the picture as though she had spotted something she had been looking for.)

Old Man: “Yep, got my American Flag pin on.”

(The old man reaches into his coat pocket, and shows the tour guide the pin. The teenagers have shut up by this point, and stopped filming. The tour guide then leads the old couple around the corner to show them more pictures of the trials. I walk up afterwards, and look at the picture. Seated at the bench were the Nazi war criminals that had caused so much death and destruction. Behind them are a line of American soldier guards. While most of the men have no medals or pins on, I spot the one soldier wearing an American flag pin over his heart. Don’t judge a book by its cover. That same man who had difficulty with a foreign device was entrusted to stand watch over some of the worst men of the twentieth century.)

(I’m a bank teller at a large national bank. A customer in her mid-twenties comes up to my till.)

Me: “Welcome to [bank name]! How can I help you today?”

Customer: “Yeah, can I find the total amount I owe for my student loans?”

Me: “Sure, what is your full name?”

(She gives me her name, and I give her the amount owed. It is a fairly large amount.)

Customer: “Perfect!”

(With a large smile, she hands me a cashier check from another bank, for the exact amount, totally paying off all loans she has with this bank. I enter the info, and print her receipt. I quickly run to the back to see my manager.)

Me: “Can I give this customer a couple of the promotional items that we usually give to people that open checking accounts?”

(My manager see the amount that she is paying, and that this means the customer has totally paid off the loans.)

Manager: “You can give her whatever you want!”

(I grab some items, and bring them back up to the till.)

Me: “Congratulations on paying off all your loans. Here’s your receipt, and a few gifts for paying off such a large loan amount.”

Customer: “Thank you very much! What I’m about to say has nothing to do with you; you are a great person, and thank you very much for the free gift. So, just go with everything I’m about to do.”

Me: “…Okay?”

(She holds up the receipt above her head, and speaks in a loud voice.)

Customer: “Ha! Six years ago I sold my soul to this bank! But after going through the nine circles of hell, I have finally gotten free of it! I now owe you nothing, zip, zero, nada! I am free; no more bills, payments, fees, nothing. I’M FREEEEEEE!”

(Even as she walks out the doors, she’s yelling and dancing. The dozen or so other customers and workers watch her the whole time. Another customer speaks loud enough so just about everyone can hear him.)

Customer #2: “Raise your hand if you wish you could do that.”

(Just about everyone else in the bank raises their hand.)

(My friend wants to sign up for a ‘Dance Dance Revolution’ contest, and drags me with her to the sign up table.)

Friend: “Sign me up!”

Registration: “What’s your name?”

(She gives registration her name and he puts her down on the chart. Then he turns to me.)

Registration: “And your name?”

Me: “Oh, no. I’m not playing, thanks.”

Registration: “Why not?”

Me: “Um… my boots are too heavy.”

(I show him the four-inch platform costume combat boots I have on. Upon seeing this, the guy working registration slowly pushes himself back from the table. He turns in his chair, so I can see his legs. One of his legs is a prosthetic, which he seems to have enforced with duct tape at the thigh.)

Registration: “I’m playing. What’s your excuse again?”

Me: “…sign me up.”

(I’m a customer in line at a pizza place. Most of the employees are Spanish speakers, but for the most part are bilingual. The cashier speaks in heavily accented, broken English, but is very sweet.)

Me: “I’d like a slice of chee—”

(A customer storms up to the counter, and begins screaming.)

Customer: “I ordered my pizza five minutes ago! Why isn’t it ready?!”

Cashier: “It is cooking.”

Customer: “It doesn’t take five minutes to heat up a pizza! I want my money back, and I want my pizza right now!”

Cashier: “It is in the oven; it will be soon.”

Customer: “I can’t understand a word you’re saying! Get me your manager!”

Cashier: “I am the manager.”

Customer: “I can’t understand you! Are you even legal? I can’t believe this place hires w******s like you!”

(I have had enough, and decide to intervene.)

Me: “Ma’am, your pizza is still cooking. They prepare them totally from scratch when you order. Her race has nothing to do with how long it takes to cook pizza, and you owe her an apology!”

Customer: “I don’t have to listen to you, you… you… booger face!”

(She storms off without her pizza, and I got mine for free. The cashier calls me ‘booger-face’ every time I eat there now!)

(There is a sizable line in the drive-thru. A rental car pulls up to order.)

Me: “Hi, welcome to [restaurant]; how can I serve you today?”

(The customer and his wife proceed to order. They order a lot of food. The customer has a thick French accent, and I have to ask him to repeat a few things.)

Customer: “How long is this going to take?”

Me: “Well, we’re kind of busy; it will take about 15 minutes.”

(I begin repeating the order back to the customer to verify that it’s right, but he pulls ahead while I’m still speaking. About 15 minutes later, he pulls up to the window. My coworker brings them their food when it is ready.)

Coworker: “All right, so I have [order] for you.”

Customer: “No, that’s wrong. We wanted [order].”

(My coworker is fairly new, so I decide to take over. I send the revised order to the kitchen and ask them to remake it. Five minutes later, the order is done.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. Here is your order.”

Customer: “That’s not all; we want milkshakes, too.”

(I am very frustrated with this customer, but I keep it under control and ring up the milkshakes. I took five years of French class in high school, so I can understand it fairly well.)

Customer: *to wife, in French* “This place is terrible.”

Customer’s Wife: “It’s so slow!”

Customer: “And that skinny white boy is very rude.

Customer’s Wife: “Don’t be mean; he’s probably not that smart.”

(They laugh, and continue making fun of me. I finish making the milkshakes, and walk over to the window with a beaming, ear-to-ear smile.)

Me: *in French* “Thank you for your business today.”

(The man makes eye contact with me. His eyes are nearly bulging out of his head, as he realizes I have understood every word he and his wife said. I keep my eyes locked on his, and maintain my ghoulish grin.)

Me: *in French* “It was a pleasure to serve you today.”

Customer: *drops milkshakes in wife’s lap and accelerates away*

Related:
This Round He Lost (In Translation)