One of my coworkers is Japanese, and while she speaks English pretty fluently, there are a couple of uncommon words that trip her up. I recently overheard this exchange:
Japanese Coworker: “His message claimed I was the ‘eppy-tome’ of—”
Other Coworker: “—Er, that’s pronounced ‘e-pi-to-me’.”
Japanese Coworker: “D*** it, English, have you been drinking again?”
I am not proud of how loudly I laughed at that.
Me: “Can I get a name for the order?”
Customer: “It’s complicated; can I spell it?”
Me: “Sure!”
Customer: “M for… uh… mother-f***er.”
Me: *Trying not to laugh.* “M…”
Customer: “B for… uh… ‘B’.”
Me: *Stares.*
Customer: “Bee! Like bzzz!”
Her name was a long Swahili name, and she would accept no abbreviations.
After about half an hour comparing all of the in-depth specs of two prepaid phones with a customer, she finally exclaimed:
Customer: “Oh! I’ll get this one! It comes with a one-year warranty, the other only comes with twelve months!”
After the customer leaves:
Manager: “That one’s on us. We should have standardized the warranty terminology instead of assuming customers were… well… smart.”
I live in a block of flats in South London where most of the neighbours know each other. I’ve been explaining this to my friend who has just moved in as a flatmate.
There’s a knock on the door about 9 PM.
Flatmate: “Who’s knocking at this hour?!”
Me: “Oh! That’s Mariusz. He’s the Polish bloke from 302. He’ll be here to pick up Strudel.”
Strudel is my Corgi.
Flatmate: “Why is he here for Strudel?”
Me: “Mariusz likes evening walks, and he likes dogs, so he likes taking Strudel for a walk around the estate. Open the door and introduce yourself.”
My flatmate opens the door and is presented with an absolute hulk of a man. I should have warned him that Mariusz is 6’3″, broad, and looks like he was carved out of cliff rocks by the Baltic Sea.
Mariusz: “Ah, you are new friend I was informed of. Nice to meet you.”
Mariusz then calls into the flat, as Strudel runs to greet him out of habit and routine.
Mariusz: “[My Name], I take dog for large s*** now.”
Both dog and giant disappear down the corridor, with my flatmate staring at me, looking for an explanation.
Me: “…Oh yes, and he also has a way with words…”
Two old ladies are looking at the menu, and then look over at my colleague.
Lady #1: “What does his shirt say?”
Lady #2: “Barista.”
Lady #1: “What, like a judge?”
Lady #2: “…No, Elsie.”
FYI: A barrister is a type of lawyer in the UK. They are not judges.
Lady #1: “Well, I don’t know! They might not earn as much as they used to! Everyone has a side job these days.
[Lady #2] spots me attempting to stifle a laugh.
Lady #2: *To me.* “Don’t mind Elsie. Sharp as a grape, that one.”
