Customer: “I want a paper take out menu.”
Me: “We don’t have them because we have a lot of seasonal items that change out often, so we don’t want people having outdated menus. For the most up-to-date menu, please refer to our website.”
Customer: *Angry.* “You just lost my business because I don’t have the internet! I only use a flip phone.”
Sorry, sir. It’s not my fault that you don’t have internet access in 2023.
(*When I was 15 years old I took part to a student exchange program in the USA. It was the first time both schools had done this, so I was excited to be a sort of “pioneer” for the program, and I was quite eager to show off my skills during the first class of the semester.*)
Teacher: «Class, say hello to our new exchange student for this semester, [My Name]!»
Entire Class: «Hello [My Name]!»
Me: «Hello class, thank you, shall I introduce myself?»
Teacher: «Of course, tell us all something about yourself.»
Me: «My name is [My Name], I’m 15 years old, and from Rome, Italy’s capital, specifically from the Jewish Ghetto…»
(*There are some murmurs around the class as I keep talking about myself, and I don’t pay much attention to them. After a few hours of lessons, recess comes, and a couple of students, one girl and one boy, approach me.*)
Girl: «Hey [My Name], you said you lived in the ghetto, right?»
(*I nod, not at all aware.*)
Girl: «Do you know somebody in a gang or something? How did the school afford the program anyway?»
Me: *baffled* «What? I don’t know.»
Girl: «Aw, that’s lame, I thought you could show me some Jewish gang signs!»
Me: *even more confused* «Gang signs? You mean like graffiti, or, like, store signs?»
Girl: «No, using their hands like you all do when talking, to tell each other apart, that thing they do.»
Me: «I’m sorry, I don’t understand what are you talking about, maybe I need to study more and better.»
Boy #1: «No, it’s not that, you’re doing fine, don’t mind her.»
Me: *confused* «Uh… okay.»
(*And that was it, thinking nothing of it. Some days passed, I made some friends, and I was invited to go eat out. We settled down, gave our orders, chit-chatted, and so on. During a pause in the conversation, a boy looked at me with a curious look.*)
Boy #2: «Now, feel free not to answer if you don’t wanna, but… do you really belong to a gang?»
Me: * surprised* «I mean…»
Friend #1: *hissing* «[Boy #2], shut the f*** up.» *turns to me and smiles sheepshly* «Sorry about that, he’s asking if you belong to a criminal group.»
(*I get up and tower over him, barely resisting the urge to assault him*)
Friend #2: «Yo, calm down [My Name], no need to get angry like this, it’s just a misunderstanding.»
Boy #2: *Cowering a little* «I-I mean, everyone in the school says that you live in the ghetto and that you were part of this or that group…»
Friend #1: «Really man? Telling that to his face? Don’t you think he might be–»
Me: *still angry* «If I was, would I tell you that? And why does me living in the Jewish ghetto make you think that? Because I live in the prettiest part of Rome, I have to be part of the Mafia?»
(*Silence falls at the table as people stare with surprised faces at me… all except that Friend #2.)
Friend #1: «That… explains quite a lot.»
Friend #2: «See?»
(*As I discovered shortly after, “ghetto” has a very specific connotation in American English, one that Italian doesn’t necessarily have. It certainly made the following months in school pretty weird thought!*)
Me: (Phones new client to try sell printer.
Client: “How much will it be for a printer?”
Me: “Okay great, I would just need to find out (list of information) please.”
Client: “You do not need to know how much I print.”
Note: client has not told me anything about how much he prints, paper size needed, colour or bw NOTHING.
This happen at least 4 to 5 times a day
Customer: “Where are your copies of [Book]?”
Me: “I’m afraid we’re sold out at the moment.”
Customer: “How can you be out of that book? Everyone is buying it!”
Me: “Ma’am, that’s exactly how we can be out of it…”
There are a series of assisted living, nursing homes, and rehabilitation facilities in my town that are all on the same road and owned by the same organization. My grandmother (father’s mother), who is still somewhat “with it” (though even she admits her memory’s not that great), moved into assisted living about two years ago. These people are free to come and go as they please, and they are very independent, but most need help taking showers (so they don’t fall), help with laundry and light housekeeping, and help with making sure they’re taking their medications as prescribed.
My newly widowed grandfather (mother’s father) has dementia and cannot live on his own. He recently moved into the memory care unit of assisted living. These people can move about on their own within the unit, but they cannot leave without being signed out. They need help bathing, taking medications, and making sure they sit down to eat meals. Unbeknownst to me, my grandfather is in the same building as my grandmother.
I visited my grandfather for the first time since he moved into assisted living. After our visit, I went to see my grandmother. We were talking about my visit with my grandfather.
Grandmother: So, how’s he doing?
Me: Pretty good. He’s one of only three men, so the ladies flock to him.
Grandmother: *laughing* Good for him! We don’t have many men here, either, but I’m not interested. Does he remember who you are?
Me: Not really. I think he knows that I’m familiar or that he should know me, but he’s usually so polite, so he fakes it. He sometimes remembers my mom, but not always.
Grandmother: Good thing I’m still with it enough to remember you guys. I’ve been wanting to visit him, but I don’t think he’d know who I was.
Me: Probably not, but if you want to, he’s right downstairs. You just have to push the buzzer to be let in, then they have to let you back out again.
Grandmother: Oh, I don’t know. I’m old and forgetting things. Once I enter, they probably wouldn’t let me leave! I’d fit right in!
