(I am in math class during my sophomore year. One of my classmates has a gallon jug of water on the corner of her desk. A student bumps it and it breaks.)
Teacher: “What was that?”
Me: “[Student]’s water broke.”
(The class starts laughing as [Student] and I both turn bright red.)
Me: “The water bottle broke! The water bottle!”
(I am checking in a group of European guests at my hotel. They all primarily speak French, but one of them speaks a little English as well, so he does his best to interpret between me and the other two. Everything goes fine until…)
Me: “And initial here please.”
Customer: “I’m sorry?”
Me: “Just put your initials on this line here.”
Customer: *blank look* “I… what do you mean?”
(I realize that he does not know the word “initials,” at least not in the context I am using it. I try another way.)
Me: “You just want to write the first letter of your first and last name here.” *I try to illustrate by pointing at the letters of his name on the registration card.*
Customer: *still confused* “I am sorry… I do not understand.”
(I don’t want to embarrass the man, but I do have to have the form filled out properly. Suddenly, I get an idea! Many Europeans speak several languages. I think back to the German class I took in high school…)
Me: “Sprechen sie Deutsch?” [Do you speak German?]
Customer: *immediately brightens* “Ja! Ich spreche Deutsch.” [Yes! I speak German.]
(I suddenly realize that I don’t know how to ask for his initials in German, either! My eyes get big and I put my hand to my head.)
Me: “…Ich spreche nicht gut Deutch.” [I don’t speak German very well.] “So sorry!”
Customer: *laughs* “Okay.”
Me: *laughs* “Just sign here, please. Thank you!”
(I wish I had thought of that earlier, but thanks goodness they were so understanding! They turned out to be very pleasant guests!)
(Our vacuum cleaner has died on us, so my dad and I go shopping for a new one. We go to an appliance store. I’m a young teen at the time. A salesperson starts showing us various models.)
Salesperson: “And here we have a Sauber.”
Me: “Huh. German for ‘clean,’ right?”
Salesperson: “Yeah. You speak German?”
Me: “Not fluently, but decently well.”
Salesperson: “Dein Vater is doof.” (“Your father is stupid.”)
(He then winks at me, like I should find him hilarious. I don’t.)
Me: “So does my Dad.”
Dad: “Ich möchte zu dein Geschäftsführer sprachen, bitte.” (“I would like to talk to your manager, please.”)
(We had a lovely talk with the manager about employees who like to call their customers stupid, especially to their own kids, even if they’re doing it in another language. We went elsewhere to buy our new vacuum, so I don’t know what happened after, but I can’t imagine that the employee stayed long at his job.)
(My friend and I are heading to his car, which is parked in downtown Seattle. We’re approached by a short black man appearing to be in his late 40s with a thick Southern accent.)
Man: “Y’all got any money you could lend me? I’m here visitin’ from N’awleans, see, and my car got impounded. I’m trying to raise money to get it out of impound.”
(My friend and I have only a moment to start the normal “Sorry, can’t help you” spiel we give panhandlers, but the guy quickly continues.)
Man: “See, I’m visitin’ from N’awleans. Y’all got a gorgeous city here, though. It is absolutely gorgeous.”
Friend: “Yeah, it’s pretty when the weather is good.”
Man: “Yeah, they ain’t been no rain while I been here; it’s been gorgeous. You know what else is gorgeous? Y’all’s women! Man, they fine! Y’all got some good lookin’ women in Seattle, but I’m a short man and they so tall! What they puttin’ in your water makin’ these women so tall?”
Me: *laughing* “Not sure, man.”
Man: “You know what else, though, ’bout this city, is these heels is killin’ me!”
(My friend and I both look at his shoes — normal sneakers — expecting to see pumps or platforms or something.)
Man: *feigning offense* “Now, why you people always be looking at my feet when I talk about y’all’s heels? Huh? I said, ‘heels!’ Not, ‘heels!’”
(We’re both getting confused.)
Man: “Man, how you white people say it?” *he stiffens up, straightens his shoulders, and does a faux Napoleon pose with his hands, then speaks in a deep, mockingly formal-sounding voice* “HILLS!” *he relaxes* “Y’all’s heels! See? They killin’ me!”
(The animated way he conducted himself was so entertaining to us we couldn’t help but give him some money. Hope he got his “car” out of “impound.”)
(It’s a sad fact that libraries often have to remove and delete old books from the shelves to make way for new ones, as we don’t have the space to keep all our books. We tend to call this process “weeding.” I’m on pretty friendly terms with my supervisor, and we occasionally talk about gardening and other things. Since I’ve been assigned a large weeding project just at the beginning of gardening season, I suppose it was inevitable that the following would happen:)
Supervisor: “How’s the weeding going?”
Me: “Oh, we haven’t started yet.”
Supervisor: “…”
Me: “Oh, you meant weeding the shelves! That’s going pretty well. I’m sorry; I thought you meant our garden.”
(We had a good laugh, at least.)
