I’m on vacation to Rome with my best friend from the USA. After a long visit to the Vatican Museums, it’s time to visit the gift shop. My friend wants a replica of the Keys of St. Peter’s, so I pick them up and try to pay in contactless form with my card, but the transaction is refused. I try to pay with my card by inserting it into the machine, but it’s still refused. At this point, the shop clerk pipes up.

Clerk: “Are you sure your card is enabled for abroad transactions?”

Me: “No, it’s not, but how’s that— Oh!”

And that’s how I managed to claim the Vatican was part of Italy in front of everyone! My friend had to pay for it herself, but she was gracious enough to accept the offer of a sandwich to make up for it.

(My wife and I are on our honeymoon and have just finished a tour of the Vatican. We are making our way through people trying to join the entry queue. I try to speak — bad — Italian, complete with accent, and weave through the crowds, wife in tow. I am over six feet tall and from London, and I have my arm out to part the crowd.)

Me: “Scusi… Scusi… Prego… Scusi.”

(I spot some British tourists up ahead trying to join the back of the line by climbing over the barrier, rather unsuccessfully. I keep an eye out, prepared for the inevitable.)

Me: “Scusi… Prego…”

(I drop into a thick London accent with no time to deal with idiots.)

Me: “COMING THROUGH, MATE!”

(The family parted faster than the Red Sea as we came through, my wife laughing her head off!)

(It is several years ago in high school, on a small class trip from the USA to the Mediterranean. We have just arrived at the Vatican and are enjoying the tour when I notice a tiny spot on my best friend’s jeans; she has started her period, and is not prepared. At this point in her life she is incredibly shy. I discreetly point this out to her, and her face goes pale. We immediately excuse ourselves to the bathroom where she enters the stall to try and salvage what she can while I start to ask other patrons if they have spare pads or tampons. They each shake their head if they speak English, or ignore me with a sad shake of their head if they don’t. Desperate, I head out the door, and find a little Italian cleaning lady with her cart. I clearly look as though I have something to ask, so she looks at me, and I take a shot.)

Me: “Excuse me. Do you have a pad, or tampon?”

Lady: “…?”

Me: “For, um… for a period?”

Lady: *gives me an apologetic look, but still clearly has no idea what I’m asking*

(Not being as shy as my friend, I throw caution to the wind, put on the most desperate expression I can manage and point to my crotch. The lady’s eyes go big, and for a moment I’m horrified that I have offended her. She starts nodding vigorously, and laughs.)

Lady: “Si, yes!”

(Relieved, I returned to my friend with a pad, who thanked me profusely. She was mortified but amused by what I did, and she tied her jacket around her waist until we could get back to the bus and use her Tide pen. Today, I still say to her, “Remember when I broke the language barrier to save your jeans by pointing at my crotch? You’re welcome.”)