Unfiltered Story #262308

Tonight, I decided I wanted to try a new restaurant and Mexican food sounded good. I was seated without a word from the hostess because the Mariachi band playing live was a ear-splitting volume. So far, the atmosphere was real enough. Then the waitress arrived and it got more real:

Waitress: Cómo estás?

Me: Hablas Inglés?

Waitress: No, señor.

Fine, my Spanish is good enough to order a meal. There wasn’t a burrito, taco or enchilada on the menu. No Tex-Mex place was this. All southern Mexico (specifically Nayarit) fare. My meal was fantastic. I even took a picture. The funny part of the whole meal came at the end. I mouthed “la cuenta?” (the bill?) across the room to my waitress, she nodded and appeared at my table a moment later. Then it dawned on me to ask her something:

Me: Credo que soy el único gringo aquí. (I believe I’m the only pasty-white American here)

Waitress: [small smile, and a glance around the room and a moment to think] Sí.

I laughed. She seemed a little worried that I didn’t have a good experience, but I told her I would be back.